


I have been brought down to my knees

by Sergia



Category: British Actor RPF, Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Angst, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 65
Words: 114,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sergia/pseuds/Sergia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Something’s wrong. I’m at Heathrow, picking up Alex and her daughter, but she’s not here. Steven, it’s been two goddamn hours and she’s not here!”</p><p>“Salome is missing?!” Panic makes his voice rise and God, he’s never heard the Moff like that. “God, Matt. Where’s Alex, let me speak to her.”</p><p>“What? No, I, Salome’s here, she’s fine.” He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He cannot be saying these words. “It’s Alex. Alex is missing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written RPF before and English is not my native language. Also, honesty forces me to admit that I have a terrible track record finishing longer stories. So even though most of this story has been plotted and written, all encouragement, criticism, suggestions and corrections are most welcome.
> 
> Obviously this is a work of fiction. The mountain of RPF guilt out back should tell you that I do not know anything about the personal lives of these actors. I didn't want to write this, but I had to.

Walking back to his flat, Matt Smith tries his hardest to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. It is time. High time, if Kaz is to be believed. And honestly, she isn’t wrong.

For ages he’s been pining after his co-star. Denying it was simply no longer an option and the feelings weren’t going away. There is only one course of action left, he figures: wooing Alex Kingston.

He’d upped the flirting – not that there’d been much upping left to do. Honestly, the woman could make the technical manual of his laundry machine sound like the dirtiest thing ever written. Without trying.

Now, after the flirting and the friendly dinners and movies, it’s time for the next phase: winning over Salome and show Alex that he’s not just looking for fun and that he is in fact not a child, but capable of taking care of one.

Right now, Kingston is on her way to Heathrow to pick up her only daughter. Or at least she should be and because of that he does a double take when he passes Alex’s rental sitting innocently in its parking space. Hadn’t she launched into a long and rather amusing tirade about the discomfort and awkward conversations that came with cab rides? So what was her blue Volvo doing here?

He fishes his phone out of his back pocket and sends off a quick text; _shouldn’t you be on your way to pick up little Kingston?_

While he waits for a reply, he decides to make a quick stop by Alex’s apartment to check if she’s in. Maybe she’s having a wardrobe crisis, or Salome’s flight is delayed. Regardless he’s too much of an opportunist not to recognize that right now he could make a good impression.

Her place is just down the hall from his and there’s no answer to his knock. That doesn’t really tell him anything, he thinks while heading towards his own apartment. She could’ve slipped in the shower and knocked her head against the sink or something.

Geez, when did he get so paranoid?

And just as he kicks his front door shut behind him, his mobile buzzes in the depths of his pocket.

_I am. Flat tire :( Took a cab – at least the driver’s not very chatty. See you Monday, darling_

Monday, yes, because she needs to reconnect with her kid and he can actually go two and a half days without seeing her. Yeah, no he can’t. Besides, Salome adores him, she’ll want to say hi. He hopes at least.

Or.

Or... Matt spins on his heels, snatches the car keys from the small hook near the door and all but runs out of the building housing him and his co-stars. He’s got a car, no plans and Alex Kingston hates taxis. This is clearly an opportunity not to be missed.


	2. Chapter 2

Traffic is not horrific for a Friday night, but he does lose some time in short hold-ups. All in all he can’t be more than twenty minutes behind the cab. As he parks his car in short-term and sprints to the arrivals, it occurs to him that Alex doesn’t know he’s coming (kind of the point, actually) and if he isn’t there on time, there’s nothing stopping her from getting into another taxi. That would mean this whole endeavour has been pointless, so he speeds up, only narrowly darting around the unsuspecting travellers milling about and barely keeping his excited limbs under control.

Matt Smith is a man with a mission and tripping is _not_ part of it.

And, yes!, mission accomplished. Salome is waiting by the doors of the arrivals hall, talking animatedly with a flight attendant. It looks like he even beat Alex, excellent.

 Just as he decides to find a secluded spot to stay out of sight as to not interrupt the mother and daughter reunion, Salome spots him. “Matty!” Her shrill voice easily travels through the hall and she yanks her hand from the flight attendant and sprints over to him. Within seconds he finds himself with arms full of excited teenager. “Matty! Mom didn’t say you’d be here! I’ve watched all the Doctor shows. Twice!” She babbles excitedly, heedless of the stares she gets from passersby. “You’re not wearing the Doctor’s clothes.”

“Ah, no. Just regular old clothes.”

Salome pouts at him. “But bow-ties are cool!”

Laughing, Matt bops her on the nose. “Yes, yes they are. Very cool.”

Satisfied, the girl smiles. “So where’s my mom?”

“Excuse me, Sir.” Both of them glance up at the interruption to find the flight attendant Salome had been talking to looming over them. Brown eyes regard him kindly, if a little wary. She is rather stunning, he thinks, with long, chestnut hair pinned back into a ponytail and round eyes that set off angled features nicely.

Her height very nearly matches his when he stands up and shakes her hand. “Hi, I’m Matt. Salome’s friend.”

“Matt is The Doctor,” Salome provides helpfully, “he’s married to my mom!”

“I saw the episode,” the woman says with a smile, “your mom is very lucky.” Then turning to him, “Ms. Kingston did not inform us you would be picking up Salome. I’m afraid I can’t let Salome leave with you.”

“I’m not,” he cuts in quickly. “I just came to offer them a ride back. Alex will be here any second.”

Reassured, the flight attendant steps back, keeping a watchful eye on her charge.

But thirty minutes later there is still no Alex. They’ve moved to a small waiting room right next to a security office and the flight attendant has been replaced by an officer. Matt knows it’s all for Salome’s protection and he is rather pleased the airport-personnel refuse to let her leave with anyone but her mother, but he’s getting anxious.

Alex isn’t responding to his texts and when Salome tries to call her, Alex’s phone goes straight to voicemail. Horrible images of a mangled cab somewhere in a ditch or smashed into pieces by a truck flash through his mind even as he keeps up an animated conversation with Salome about boring teachers and mean classmates.

Salome for her part seems to be unfazed by her mother’s absence, but she keeps sneaking glances at the door every few seconds until finally, an hour after he’s arrived, they both decide enough is enough.

“Matt? Where’s my mom?”

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon, poppet.”

“You said that _hours_ ago,” the girl points out sternly. “Is she working?”

“What? No! She left before I did.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes his mistake. He’d only wanted to chase away the sadness in Salome’s wide eyes. Instead he’s made it worse.

Voice small, Salome can’t quite meet his eyes. “Then where is she Matty? I want my mom.”

“I, uhm, I’ll go check, okay? Be right back.” He pulls her into a hug, out of words to reassure her and then takes off in search of someone who can help him. Something is wrong, it has to be. Alex would never be this late without letting Salome know.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to make too much of a fuss and the officer keeping an eye on Salome quickly introduces him to one of the ranking officers. Agent Kate Janney listens attentively as he explains that this really isn’t like Alex, that she would find away to contact her daughter in case of unforeseen delays.

Alex’s cell phone could have ran empty, Janney tells him in a sotto voice, and the taxi could’ve tried to take a shortcut but have ended up in a larger hold-up, or had a flat tire, or ran out of gas, or maybe she got her airports mixed up. All things that could have happened, but he got here an hour ago and there’s still no sign of Alex Kingston.

“Why didn’t she just come with you?” The woman asks, her blue eyes all business.

“She already left when I got back from set. I wanted to surprise her.” He shrugs lamely. Going over the possible reasons for Alex’s delay has only made him more uneasy. “Something is wrong. Please, isn’t there something you can do?”

Janney’s mousy-brown locks brush back and forth across her shoulders as she nods. “I’ll send someone by her place in Cardiff and I’d like to talk to Ms. Haertel. Do you have any contact details for her family?” He can literally feel the blood drain from his face at that. She couldn’t seriously be thinking—“We can’t let you take the child,” the woman explains quickly. “Can you call her father?”

“He’s in America.” And while he doesn’t know Alex’s almost ex-husband, the worst thing right now would be for Salome to fly back to the States. If Alex is really only delayed, she’ll never forgive him for that. No, not an option at all. “I can get her grandparents’ information,” he promises instead, hoping fervently the Who team has it on file in case of emergency. He knows they have his parents’ phone number.

Agent Janney nods and tugs at the hem of her uniform jacket. “That will do. Thank you Mr. Smith.” But the reassuring smile she offers doesn’t put him at ease at all. Where the hell is Alex? Doing his best to keep his nerves under control for Salome’s sake, he introduces the officer to her, acting his ass off to assure the teenager that of course Alex is fine.

While the two talk, he fishes his phone from his pocket and calls Who’s very own diabolical Scot. “Ah Doctor!” Steven chirps happily, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I... ah...” Shit. What can he say? What should he say? This could still all be an overreaction. But by now Alex should’ve been at the airport two hours ago and with that realisation the words rush out of him. “Something’s wrong. I’m at Heathrow, picking up Alex and her daughter, but she’s not here. Steven, it’s been two goddamn hours and _she’s not here_!”

“Salome is missing?!” Panic makes his voice rise and God, he’s never heard the Moff like that. “God, Matt. Where’s Alex, let me speak to her.”

“What? No, I, Salome’s here, she’s fine.” He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He cannot be saying these words. “It’s Alex. Alex is missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: the next updates won't be quite as quick, I just wanted to get the plotline out :-)


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as he said those words aloud, they became real. Alex is missing. After that everything just became a blur. He called Alex’s parents, who were out the door before he well and truly finished explaining. Then he stupidly told Karen just to shut her up because she kept bugging him to go out with her and Darvill. Of course that resulted in his Who-colleagues wanting to hop into a car and speed over.

Which really wouldn’t help matters at all. As it is he’s struggling to keep his building panic under control. Karen may be a life-saver when disaster means a lack of booze or sex, but she was already half-hysterical on the phone, he just can’t deal with her right now.

Thankfully he manages to convince his friends to stay in Cardiff, should the police want to talk to them. And then everything really goes to hell. He’s cheerfully chatting to Salome about River Song, doing all he can to keep her occupied, when she suddenly looks at him with a gaze far beyond her years. “Matty?”

“What is it, kiddo?”

She looks at the floor for a few seconds, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in a manner so reminiscent of her mother he damn near tears up. Alex is fine. Of course she’s fine. “Do you think the Doctor and River will have a baby?”

He does a double take, stunned into silence. What now? Where did _that_ come from?

“Olivia says that when people love each other they have babies,” she answers his unspoken question, her eyes worried wide, “and you and my mom – the Doctor and River – they love each other, right?” Her voice drops to a whisper and she looks so damn adorably unsure, as if the question has been bothering her for ages.

“Well, yes, they do. Timey-whimey and wibbly-wobbly, but that doesn’t mean...” he clears his throat uneasily. How is he even talking about this with an eleven-year-old? “Would you like them to?”

Salome shakes her head, pushing dark curls behind her ears with her tiny hands.

“Why not, Poppet?”

“I think it would make my mum sad.”

Her eyes flit away from his and she wrings her hands together. And he, oh he is _useless_. He can’t even breathe. “Why do you think that?””

“She says it’s because I’m growing up so fast, but it’s not. It’s because she wants another baby and she can’t.”

Of course he’s read the interviews, the articles. Call it research. She’s never talked to him about it, and why would she? They’re colleagues, friends, but to her he is probably nothing more than a fun, harmless puppy – to go with Karen’s assessment. He fears The Moonhead may be right about that one. And who knows, maybe Alex is not wrong. He knows nothing of these things. The worst that has happened to him is his back injury. His life experience pales in comparison to Alex’s.

But right now there’s a little girl in front of him who’s scared and sad and he’ll move mountains to make her feel better.

“Oh sweetheart, come here.” Salome climbs into his lap without hesitation, flinging her small arms around his neck. “Your mom loves you more than anything. We can’t always have the things we want, but that doesn’t mean we’re not ridiculously happy with the things we have.”

Salome nods into his shoulder, clinging tighter to him. “Matty, I want my mommy.” Finally the exhaustion of her flight and the past few hours must be catching up to her, she starts to shake, sniffling a few times before hot tears burn into the skin of his neck.

“It’ll be okay, Poppet. Your mom will be fine and she’ll be here soon and we’ll go for ice cream, yeah?”

Even at eleven however, Salome seems to recognize false cheer when she hears it and only cries harder.

It feels like hours before her cries dwindle down to hiccupping sobs and all the time he spends trying to comfort the little girl, he also spends trying to reel in his own fears. An unfamiliar ringtone is what finally breaks them out of their worries.

Salome’s head shoots up instantly. “That’s my phone, Matty, that’s my phone!” They fumble for her pink coat draped on the chair next to them and her small hands make quick work of searching the pockets. She pulls out the device with trembling fingers, the front next to her ear before she’s even picked up. “Mommy?”

Her face falls and his with it.

Wide, brown eyes lock with Matt’s as her bottom lip begins to tremble anew and tears gather on her lashes. “Daddy. I’m, I’m okay. Sorry I didn’t... she’s not. Mom isn’t...” Salome presses her face back into his neck, thrusting the phone into his chest.

Nervously he plucks it from her fingers. Talking to Alex’s ex-husband ranks high – very, extremely, unfathomably high – on his list of Things to Avoid, but he can’t in good consciousness ignore the man. “Mr. Kin- Haertel. I, ah, I’m Matt Smith. I, uhm, work with Alex.”

“I don’t really care,” the man informs him shortly. “Where’s Alex? And why did she send you to pick up our daughter?”

“She didn’t. And, well, we don’t know where she is.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know where she is?”

Matt flinches at the man’s low and threatening tone, but he’s got Salome sobbing into his neck and is all too aware that the little girl is listening to his every word. “She left Cardiff hours ago, but she never arrived at the airport. The police are, they’re looking for her.”

The line is silent for a long moment, the only sounds that travel across the ocean a few heavy breaths. “I want to talk to my daughter.”

But Salome, apparently close enough to the phone to hear her father only clings to him tighter and shakes her head vigorously. “Uhm.” Really, how on Earth is he supposed to relay that message without seriously overstepping familial boundaries? Thankfully he’s saved from having to figure it out by officer Janney.

The short woman quietly slips into the waiting room and motions for him to hang up.

That would probably go over worse, so Matt settles for a medium. “Sorry Mr. Haertel, one moment, the police are here.” At the last name, Janney narrows her eyes at him.

“Is that Salome’s father? I need to talk to him.”

Matt blinks at her. All soothing inflictions in her voice have disappeared, even her body language has changed. Now she’s all square lines and unflinching eyes. Businesslike, rather than calming like she’d been earlier. It puts him on edge. “Yeah. Sure. Is there anything new?”

She glances at the girl clinging to his chest and if she won’t tell him here, with Salome present, it can only be bad, right? He’s seen enough crime shows to read between the lines.

But after a second, the officer brings her eyes back to his.

“We traced the last position of Ms. Kingston’s cell phone. It came from a gas station off the M4 near Newport, a patrol car is checking it out.”

Salome stirs and looks up at him. “That’s good right? They’ve found my mommy?”

“It sure looks that way Sweetheart.” It’s a lie. A blatant, cowardly lie. If Alex is at a gas station, why hasn’t she called them? “I’m sure agent Janney wants to talk to your Dad for a bit,” he continues with a calm that he absolutely does not feel, “wanna get something to eat?”

“’m not hungry.”

“Well, I’m going to get an ice cream and you can watch me, how’s that?”

The little girl slides off his lap. Her eyes, shimmering with tears and so, so uncertain flicker between him and the officer. “Okay,” she says quietly and slips her hand in his. He hands the phone over to Janney, not bothering to warn Salome’s father and can just hear the man call for his daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and reviews, they make my day!
> 
> More please? ;)


	4. Chapter 4

There is no Alex at the gas station, they only find her cell phone discarded in the bushes behind the loo. And now that Salome’s grandparents have arrived and taken over caring for the girl, Matt finds himself with nothing to do but panic.

The police have searched Alex’s apartment and not found anything. Or not found anything they’re telling him about; he’s quite convinced there’s something officer Janney isn’t sharing with him.

What she has told him, on the other hand, is that it appears the tire of Alex’s rental has been deliberately slashed. And that means that now – and he can’t believe this is reality now – that they’re treating Alex’s disappearance as a kidnapping and _oh_ _god_.

Horrible scenarios run rampant through his brain and they just don’t stop. He’s seen too many movies, too many TV shows with all kinds of terrifying plots to just sit and wait. So he busies himself fetching drinks and food for Salome and her grandparents and keeping the three of them distracted in a desperate effort to distract himself. It’s all futile though. His heart is hammering away in his chest, fuelled by adrenaline and constricted by fear.

He never told her... never found to courage to make sure she knew he wasn’t flirting just for the hell of it. With anyone, _everyone_ else, yes, but never with her. With Alex it’s always been something more.

Maybe it’d been just lust at first (okay, probably), but with that hair and that voice and those eyes how was any warm-blooded male to think about anything but slamming her against the nearest flat surface and taking her? _Hello_ caveman Smith.

And if he’s honest, the lust is still there. It’s become more than that though. They’ve been working together for three years now. She isn’t around that much of the time, but he’s come to miss her when she isn’t.

His heart beats a nervous drum inside his chest as he’s led into a smaller room away from Salome and her grandparents. Dazed he takes in the stark grey walls and sparse furniture. Two cheap and uncomfortable looking chairs and a wooden table with a weathered surface. “Take a seat, Mr. Smith.”

Agent Janney, with her wide-set grey eyes and pale skin makes it sound like an order. He doesn’t have it in him to question or object. She’d been so nice to him and Salome at first, but as the night wore on her demeanour has gotten decidedly more cool. For someone a good head shorter than him, the policewoman looks rather intimidating as she sits down opposite of him. “You’ve been working with Ms. Kingston for a while now, haven’t you Mr. Smith?” She asks coolly, hands folded on the table between them.

The tone puts him on edge. “Almost three years, on and off.”

“And you get on well?”

“Of course. She’s Alex Kingston, I don’t think there’s anyone who wouldn’t get along with her.” He cringes at how cliché that must sound to her. If the telly is to be believed, this is what is always said of vic- _no_.

“Is there anyone you know she’s had trouble with, someone who might be hanging around her a little too much, or someone who appears to avoid her at all cost?”

He knows she’s going somewhere with this. Her eyes are narrowed and a faded brown lock hangs stubbornly over the corner of her right eye. She doesn’t spare a moment to brush it out of her face. The scrutinizing is putting him on edge. Surely she doesn’t think he has something to do with Alex’s disappearance.

“Perhaps a persistent fan? Does she receive hate mail, to your knowledge?”

“We all do,” Matt shrugs, “comes with the job. I’m sure there are fans who don’t like River Song. I’ve met some fans who were outraged by the Doctor having a wife.”

“But she never mentioned anything in particular?”

“No, not to me, no.”

For a long moment – properly, scarily long – Janney studies him in silence. He tries not to get nervous, or look away lest she think he has something to hide, but his body only ever half-listens to his head anyway and he finds himself fidgeting nervously no matter how much he tries to sit still.

Without looking away from him, she pushes a plastic folder over to him with her left hand. He takes it from her, his gaze lingering for a brief second on the policewoman’s short trimmed nails. Like the rest of her, her hands are small and plain. No polish or jewellery. He can’t remember the last time he saw a woman without nail polish.

But all thoughts of the odd world he lives in fly from his head when he studies the evidence bag Janney just pushed over. Inside is a plain piece of paper. Smoothed out creases indicated it’s been crumpled into a ball at some point. His breath stalls when he reads the printed lines.

It’s a love letter, or something like one anyway, directed to Alex and it’s, well, _intimate_. Whoever wrote this knows her well – or at least thinks he does. It mentions several interviews but mostly focuses on Alex’s physical appearance. Her laugh and her eyes and how happy the writer would make her. How she would recognize her true love in him when he came to whisk her away.

The letter changes tone after that, suddenly speaking of River Song as if she is a real person and how the Doctor does not deserve her. Matt has to stop reading. If this means what he thinks it does... He swallows hard and looks at the woman opposite of him. “Do you think...?”

“We do not think anything.”

“But, but whoever wrote this is clearly sick! What if he made good on his promise?”

“We’re looking into it.” The assurance does little to calm the frantic beating of his heart. “It could just be a ruse.”

“A ruse, a ruse for what?” He wills the agent to tell him everything. More than anything he wants to know exactly what the police are doing to find his co-star, what their theories and worries are. And at the same time he doesn’t want to know any of those things. All he wants is the certainty that Alex is be safe and unharmed.

Agent Janney takes the evidence bag back and folds her hands in front of her on the table. “Has she spoken to you about her divorce?”

It takes him a second to catch up and keep the disappointment out of his voice. “No,  not really.” He’d been hoping Alex might considering him enough of a friend to talk to him about her marriage. The few times she had mentioned her ex-husband, there had been such sadness in her eyes Matt had to restrain himself from hugging her. “I know it wasn’t an amicable split and she worries about her daughter,” he offers quietly.

“But the separation hasn’t been finalized, has it?”

“No, it hangs on the custody agreement, I think.”

Janney nods once at that and scribbles something in her notebook. “How well do you know Mr. Haertel?”

An uneasy feeling creeps up the base of his spine. The table jars a little when he sits forward. “You think he might have something to do with her disappearance?”

“Custody battles often bring out the worst in people,” the woman states flatly, “and Ms. Kingston and Mr. Haertel have clearly been at odds for some time.”

“I don’t know the man – never spoke to him before today – but I refuse to believe he would do that to Alex, to Salome. She needs her mother. What kind of father would he be if he tried to take that away from her?”

It unnerves him that he doesn’t know enough to feel more comfortable with his assertion. Perhaps calling himself Alex’s friend had been a bit optimistic. Sure, he knows how she takes her tea, which movies make her cry and that most horror movies make her laugh. Her feet are always cold and she sleeps in only knickers – how he wishes he’d know that from personal experience. She prefers white grapes over blue ones, but red wine over white and hates mushrooms but stops just short of fishing them out of food already prepared.

She acts because she genuinely loves the work, not the fame and attention. He adores her interviews because she is always so serious about her work and the characters she plays, going as far as referring to them in first person. He will forever be indebted to her for all the advice and tips she gave him and Kaz when they tumbled into the Whoverse.

But she never talks about her life in the States – not to him at least. He doesn’t know how tense things are with Salome’s father or if the custody battles scares her. Does she still love Florian and hope for reconciliation? Matt doesn’t think so, but he doesn’t _know_.

Maybe he should’ve asked more, told her plainly that he would gladly be a shoulder or listening ear. But he hadn’t and now...

He swallows hard.

Now it might be too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone wanna take bets on who the culprit is? ;)
> 
> Thank you all for reading, I hope you're enjoying the story so far and please don't hesitate to point out any mistakes or inconsistencies. 
> 
> And many thanks again for the kudos and comments, they're an excellent carrot to keep this donkey moving!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her fogged mind finally puts the pieces together.
> 
> Oh God. Someone took her here. Someone took her here and tied her up and she sure as hell didn’t agree to any of that and the knot holding her wrists isn’t budging and somebody, anybody please help!

Really, it’s not like he needed an eye opener, Matt thinks angrily as he tosses his phone on the seat next to him. Stupid Karen with her stupid ideas of romance. Honestly. Alex is missing. Kidnapped by some god forsaken idiot fan – or possibly a gun for hire working for her almost-ex-husband. His feelings for her don’t matter. Her _safety_ matters.

Besides, this is not a turning point. Turning points are, well, _points_. Singular moments in which one’s world is turned upside down. Turning points do not drag on for hour after agonizing hour. And turning points also require a up-until-then unknown insight and he was very much aware of his feelings for Alex Kingston, _thankyouverymuch_.

So on all accounts, Moonface is wrong. So there.

He takes a deep breath to cleanse the frustration and sheer fear coursing through his bloodstream. Driving back to Cardiff at three in the morning probably isn’t the smartest decision he’s ever made. The speed dial indicates a velocity he’s not actually comfortable with now that he’s aware and he eases his foot off the gas. Getting arrested or god forbid in an accident won’t help matters much. At least the road is deserted, save the occasional truck.

Which is good, because he’s less likely to run someone off the road. And not good, because there’s nothing to distract him. It’s been nine hours and thirty-eight minutes since Alex’s phone was dumped, ten and a bit since she’s officially missing. His stomach churns with the thought and tears prick in the corners of his eyes.

Where is she? He’s deducted – rather cleverly, if you ask him – that they probably haven’t taken her far. Alex’s phone had been found fifteen minutes outside Cardiff and she’s hardly the type of person to go unnoticed, what with her impossible hair and other bits. No, if whoever took her had any brain cells left (debatable, granted), they wouldn’t risk exposing themselves and the farther they moved her, the more chance there was of that happening.

No, Alex had to be somewhat near Cardiff, and he is making damn sure that he will be as close as possible when they find her.

====

Alex has in fact no idea where she is or how she’d gotten there. Where she is, is some place cold and smelly, a place that is definitely not the airport. Currently she’s quite convinced there’s a group of lumberjacks enthusiastically splitting her skull apart with rhythmic blows of sharp axes. How is her head even hurting this much? Surely her skull isn’t big enough for this much pain.

Every terrible hangover and migraine of her life combined don’t come close to this sharp-edged throbbing that curls up from the base of her skull to curve along her bones and finally settle with a sharp point right between her eyes.

She’s torn between lying perfectly still as not to aggravate the pain and moving in an attempt to soothe it. The latter wins out eventually. Salome is waiting for her, probably pissed that Alex is late. Nothing will stop her from getting to her daughter. Not a bloody ocean or a vindictive ex-husband and certainly not a damn headache.

Even if it is the headache from hell.

So, small steps. First try and soothe the pain, then try something a little more daunting – like getting vertical. Her stomach lurches at the mere thought. For now moving her arm will be enough and that she can do.

 

Or not.

 

She tries again to bring her hand down to rub across the bridge of her nose, but apart from an ineffectual twist of her elbow, nothing else is moving. What the hell?

Another, more impatient attempt is punished instantly by a sharp ache shooting up her upper arm. She clenches her jaw against the additional pain, but that only causes her headache to flare up. _Honestly_.

Somebody just kill her.

But no, that won’t do, she has a daughter who’s waiting for her and why aren’t her bloody arms _moving_?

And through the haze of pain it suddenly hits her. It’s not that her arms aren’t moving, it’s that they can’t.

Alex’s eyes fly open. Her surroundings are dim if not dark, but even that small change is enough to send daggers of sharp pain behind her eyes. Her heart starts a frantic beat inside her chest. Why can’t she move her arms? Her skull is damn near splitting in two, tears burn in the corners of her eyes and wave after wave of nausea rolls through her when she yanks desperately to _just_ _move_.

Bile rises in her throat when it finally sinks in that she’s truly trapped, her wrists tied somehow to something above her head. And Lord why does it hurt so bad?

All right then. _Think_.

First order is to breathe and stop the adrenaline surging through her veins. Deep, slow breathes to fight back the waves of nausea. But the air is too cold and mouldy, the chill of it crawls up her spine and fuels her headache.

She gasps with agony, wanting nothing more than to just close her eyes and not move a muscle until the pain passes. But she can’t, she has a responsibility to her child – the daughter she hasn’t seen in too long.

Back to the baby steps it is. Alex tries flexing her fingers – that works, then attempts to turn her hands. Her restraints give a little, but not enough to slip her wrists out. Okay then, not hand cuffs but rope or something similar.

She finds the knot, ignoring the aches shooting down her forearms as she bends her wrists awkwardly to pluck at it. The muscles in her arms and shoulders protest every movement, stiff from the cold and awkward position. How long has she been here?

And where exactly is here?

Salome is waiting at the airport. Her rental wouldn’t start, so she called a cab. She tries to piece together flashes of memories through the throbbing of her skull, losing her train of through every so often. Think, Alex, _think_.

A cab and a blessedly quiet cab driver and then a gas station. She remembers the stench of gasoline and her barely contained annoyance. Her daughter would be landing in little over two hours and she was running late. She fiddles with her phone, keeping an eye on the driver as he fills up the tank. There’s a tap on the window and then...

Then nothing.

Well no. Then comes the splitting headache and her tied wrists and the damp, cold and filthy place around her.

The panic she felt earlier is nothing compared to the sheer terror that floods her when her fogged mind finally puts the pieces together.

Oh God. Someone took her here. Someone took her here and tied her up and she sure as hell didn’t agree to any of that and the knot holding her wrists isn’t budging _and somebody, anybody please_ _help!_

Daggers of cold pain bury into her skull, bolts of searing white shoot behind her eyes and explode into blotches of red and orange when the terror tightens its hold on her. Her instinct to survive takes over. She pulls and yanks on the ropes, twisting around to find any kind of leverage even though pain coils itself around her arms and shoulders and presses against her forehead with the weight of an anvil.

Nausea boils in her stomach, but she is tied, defenceless against whoever took her and brought her to this place. She can’t afford to just lie there and wait, she has to get up. So she ignores the pain and the nausea and yanks with all her might on the ropes until her body refuses to humour her any longer.

She realizes the futility just in time to turn her head and not choke on her own vomit. The acidity burns along her oesophagus and starts a vicious circle of retching and pain. She can think of only one thing as her sight begins to blacken around the edges and she whispers for someone to please just help her.

 _Salome_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there, Alex! 
> 
> Comments and kudos much appreciated! Thank you all :)


	6. Chapter 6

The walls of his apartment are crowding him almost as soon as he steps through the front door. Matt meant to come home and jump into bed in a – probably futile – attempt to get some rest. The last hours have left him ragged. But how can he sleep like this? In here? Where just three days ago, Alex was sitting on his couch, mocking the pasta he cooked for her as they ran lines.

So instead he jumps under the shower and changes into clean(ish) clothes. He snatches a bottle of scotch (a _grown_ - _up_ drink, courtesy of Alex) from his kitchen counter because it’s rude to turn up empty-handed and makes his way over to Steven’s house.

His boss had offered up his home to Karen and Arthur and honestly Matt could use the company.

Sue takes one look at him when she opens the door and pulls him into a tight hug. “Oh poor dear.” And it’s a little too kind, too motherly. Tears prick in the corner of his eyes as he soaks up the warm comfort.

“Hi Sue.”

She fishes the bottle out of his hands and after he's taken off his shoes, nudges him into the warmth of the living room. Karen flings her arms around his neck as soon as he pokes his head through the door. Her features are drawn and even paler than usual. He never thought that would be possible.

Matt physically has to push her off him when she lets out a hoarse sob. She can’t cry, or he’ll go too. Karen slinks back into the large sofa she’s sharing with Arthur, leaving Matt the big chair opposite of Steven. It is ridiculously comfortable and he sinks into the soft cushions with a grateful sigh, socked toes burying into the plush carpet.

“How was the drive?”

For a second he wants to laugh. That’s exactly what his father would ask. It’s utterly pointless and irrelevant, but he’s grateful for the safe topic all the same. “Might’ve broken a speed limit or two. Didn’t see a soul.”

Steven nods sagely. “Good, good.”

Silence settles around them, heavy with their worries and racing thoughts. On the couch, Karen shuffles closer to Arthur, seeking comfort in her co-star’s half embrace. Now who’s having a turning point, Matt thinks with a small amount of jealousy.

Not that he wants Karen to curl up to him like that, or Darvill. No, there’s only one person who he really wants to hold and touch and talk with right now and he can’t.

 Their heads snap to the door when it creaks open. He wants to laugh at the absurdity. As if Kingston would come through it, proclaiming this whole horror to be nothing but a terrible joke. If only. Instead Steven’s wife enters the room carrying a tray of freshly made cups of tea. Matt grabs one and wraps his fingers around it. “Thanks Sue.”

She smiles warmly and moves on to the others.

“What’s the latest?” Arthur asks gently when they’ve all been provided with tea and homemade chocolate-chip cookies.

Matt sips his tea despite it being a little too hot. He needs the slight tingle of pain to not lose his cool. “Last I heard, the police traced which cab-company she must’ve used through her phone. One of the drivers left in the middle of his shift and never came back.”

“So that’s him, yeah?”

He risks a glance at Karen and breathes a little easier when she appears a little more together. “Probably. They’re looking for him and his car, but the company doesn’t use those track and trace thingies—“

“Transponders.” Arthur cuts in helpfully.

“Right, transponders. And the guy has his cell phone turned off.”

“So it’s gotta be him, right?” Karen sits up a little straighter, her wide eyes fixed on Matt as if he has all the answers. He wishes he did. “I mean, that’s just too much coincidence. It’s gotta be him.”

“If it is...” In spite of the heat radiating from his cuppa, he shivers. “They showed me the letter he wrote her. If it’s the same guy, I don’t... They have to find her.”

Steven gives him an encouraging smile that doesn’t even come close to being real. “They will.”

Yes, Matt thinks, but in what state?

“I know each of you has received hate mail in the past,” the Scot makes eye contact with each his guests before continuing. “This day and age it’s mostly digital. But this letter was delivered to Alex’s flat. If that happens, or has happened to someone else I want to know about it, guys. Hell, if it’s an e-mail or a bloody pigeon that disturbs you, tell me or Beth or Pierce, okay?”

Karen caves first and nods timidly. “Yeah.” But they’re all thinking the same thing; that won’t help Alex now.

The night passes slowly, crawling through stretches of silence and hesitant conversation. They joke awkwardly about Alex’s taking method a bit too far, forcing the humour before its time and feeling all the worse for it.

Outside the sky is lit up by the first light of day when Matt’s phone rings. His friends stare at him, eyes wide with fear and hope and their throats probably as constricted as his. He finds the device easily, having been checking it constantly throughout the night and almost drops it in his haste to identify the caller.

When he does, he gives the others a slight shake of his head, his own heart plummeting to his knees. “Hi Poppet.” With his phone pressed to his ear, he crosses the living room, squeezing Karen’s shoulder as he passes her by.

The redhead buries her face in Arthur’s neck.

Matt slips through the large townhouse-doors into the garden, welcoming the cold bite of a Cardiff spring morning on his skin.

“Hi Matt,” Salome returns timidly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, kiddo?” He chastises lightly, all too aware of how hypocritical the question is. Of course she’s not sleeping.

“I had a nightmare.”

With a heavy sigh, Matt sits down in the full-sized swing standing proudly in the middle of Steven’s backyard. “Me too.” And even though he hasn’t closed his eyes for more than a second since this whole thing started, it’s not a lie.

“Daddy wants me to come back to LA, but I don’t want to go. I want to see my mom, Matt.”

The edges of panic in her thin voice tug – no, _yank_ – at his heartstrings. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay?” And of course that’s a lie. She’s a minor, if Florian really wants her back, the only one who can stop him is Alex.

He swings mindlessly, back and forth – back and forth – while doing his best to calm the distressed teenager and stop thinking about terrifying ‘what-ifs’. After a while Salome’s voice becomes softer and softer and he nudges her off to bed.

Salome is a brilliant kid; smart and empathic, well spoken and polite, a little sassy (but then what would one expect from Alex Kingston’s daughter?). She appears to handle her parents’ separation really well, even now. If you ask him, in no small part thanks to Alex.

He’s seen the way she watches her daughter when Salome is occupied by something or other – the soft smile and pride that light up Alex’s eyes then never fail to take his breath away. He’s always been told that it’s impossible to understand the love for a child unless you are a parent yourself, but seeing Alex’s obvious devotion to Salome, expressed in fond, chiding instructions and tight hugs, Matt thinks he gets it.

More than that, he _wants_ it with her.

He watches the last vestiges of dawn surrender themselves to the sun, hoping that wherever she is, Alex is witnessing this rise of a new day too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop died this morning, but yay for managing a back-up before all was lost
> 
> I hope you're still reading & enjoying yourselves :)


	7. Chapter 7

It’s a ridiculously high-pitched chirping that wakes Alex. Reluctantly she allows herself to be dragged into consciousness, but keeps her eyes defiantly shut. The dull, heavy ache above her eyebrows says she slept too deeply. Her body agrees, stiff and achy from the unusual lack of tossing and turning and she has a _foul_ taste in her mouth.

She barely recalls anything of the night before. Why had she been so exhausted? Must’ve been the excitement of seeing her daughter again. Apparently she even fell asleep slumped into an awkward half sitting/half lying position. Moving to stretch out her sore muscles, her mind finally catches up and her eyes fly open when her morning stretch is crudely restricted. There’d been no tossing and turning because she couldn’t, her wrists tied to something behind her back.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Someone took her here and tied her up – even repositioned her, _touched_ her, while she was sleeping or unconscious or whatever the hell she’d been. Alex yanks against her bonds, flopping uselessly when she fails to find any purchase. Her heart is hammering so frantically it threatens to burst out of her chest and escape on its own. At least that awful headache won’t kill her, she thinks darkly, still immeasurably relieved that it is in fact almost gone. Having her skull stuffed with cotton balls is infinitely better than last night’s daggers and nails.

Then her heart seizes completely when unfamiliar fingers smooth from her temple down her jaw-line. The unexpected touch stills everything inside her as her eyes frantically search for its origin. An origin she is probably better off not knowing.

She swallows heavily and slowly turns her head after the fingers have left her face.

There’s a man kneeling next to her head. A stranger who just touched her, who probably brought her here and tied her up and she really cannot afford to panic again. His soft blue eyes regard her with sympathy and he reaches for her with a large hand.

“Don’t.” Alex glares, moving away from him as much as she can.

He looks hurt at her rejection. “You made a bit of a mess,” he tells her quietly, “but I cleaned it up. Are you feeling better?”

Alex snorts before she can stop herself. Pissing off the man who took her might not be a wise thing and any answer she wants to give will probably accomplish just that. Instead she nods and calls on all her acting abilities to keep the frantic rush of thoughts off her face.

Why did he do this? What does he want with her? The guy looks so normal. Early forties, with rounded, plain features. She likes to think herself not overly critical or demanding of looks, but this guy is just plain. Light brown hair, shot through with grey,  regular blue eyes. His eyebrows aren’t overly bushy, his face not pudgy or angled.

Regular Joe.

His voice is low and oddly soothing. In fact, that is the only thing that springs out at her; he is utterly at ease. As if this is nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it isn’t. What if he’s taken other women before her? What became of them?

_Stop that Alex. Just think._

Someone will have missed her by now, right? The airport-personnel will have taken care of Salome and they have her emergency contacts. She hopes fervently they called her parents and not Florian. He would probably fly their daughter back as soon as possible.

Her heart clenches at the thought. Salome was only flying over for a week and she’d already missed one evening. She had to get out of here, but how?

“Good. I’ll get your breakfast, love.”

He’s already halfway up the stairs – she must be in a basement then – when Alex registers the endearment. A shudder runs up her spine. What does he want with her?

Left alone, she tests her bonds again, fruitlessly plucking at the knot that’s holding her wrists together while she studies her make-shift cell. It’s definitely a basement; cold and damp with only a small window high up near the ceiling. Other than the entirely too cheerful birdsongs outside she can’t hear anything. No voices or cars, just silence.

‘Regular Joe’ returns all too soon, his heavy footsteps and the creaking of a door announce his return and give Alex just enough time to school her feature into innocent calm. He really is huge – not overweight, just really tall. Six foot five, she guesses. The breakfast tray is dwarfed by the size of his hands.

On the tray are a few slices of clumsily made toast and a cup of tea. “It’s nothing much,” Joe apologizes almost bashfully. She supposes that should put her a little at ease – that he doesn’t appear to be a violent criminal, but a shy boy. Instead it only makes her more nervous. He is holding her against her will, no matter how sweet he is about it.

That letter she’d found tucked under her front door on Friday morning, could this man be the author? She watches closely as he arranges the breakfast tray on her lap and positions himself in a rickety chair next to her. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility. But that letter had started rather sweetly and degraded quickly into threatening, violent language.

This man looks as if he couldn’t hurt a fly.

Except that he already had.

He feeds her pieces of toast and every cell in her body rebels at his nearness, at being fed like a small child, at the way her captor studies her every move. But she knows she has no choice. If she’s going to escape – or at least survive – and she has every intention of doing both, she needs to eat and more importantly, she needs to drink.

When half the toast and half the poorly made tea is gone, Joe takes the tray away and runs his fingers along her jaw. Alex shudders and instinctively leans back into the radiator to get away from him.

“Sorry we couldn’t take our daughter, love. I just couldn’t wait another minute to show you our new house. Do you like it? I know it’s a fix-me-upper, but it will be brilliant and then we’ll get Salome.”

“Don’t you dare,” Alex growls, every last trace of fear replaced by a protective anger she has only felt once or twice before. No one touches her daughter and certainly not this creep. “Do not touch her. Whatever your plan is, leave her out of it!”

Joe shrinks back from her and for a split second he looks like a chastised little boy, but just as quickly his blue eyes harden and he sets his jaw. Alex has barely registered the change when he wraps a large hand around her throat and squeezes. “Shut up, bitch!” He forces her back up against the cold radiator easily, its sharp edges pressing painfully into her back, and with such force that the air is forced out of her lungs.

The painful impact drives home how easily he could really hurt her.

She tries to suck in fresh air, struggling ineffectively against his grip, but he only tightens down until she can’t get hold of even the smallest of breaths. “We are a family,” he hisses against her cheek, “and _our_ daughter is part of that. You will not keep her away from me”.

She knows, she _knows_ she should fold, but he’s talking about Salome and she’ll do anything, everything to keep her child safe. She squeezes a ‘fuck you’ past the constriction of his hand. Her lungs start to burn with the need for oxygen as Joe increases his hold on her neck in reply.

When her vision begins to blur, he mercifully releases her and Alex is so busy sucking in mouthful after mouthful of blessed air that she doesn’t notice him move until his open hand connects sharply with her cheek. Pain blossoms out from just below her cheekbone. Before she’s quite recovered from the shock a copper taste replaces that of the watery tea.

Joe brings his face close to hers, so close his breath flows across her aching skin. “I’ll let it go this once, but do not test me again, dear. Understood?”

It feels like betrayal when she nods, but what else can she do? This man doesn’t look as if he’ll have any problems killing her and then what use is she? Maybe she just needs to sit still and wait it out. Surely she’ll have been missed by now, people will be looking for her and they will find her.

She sucks gingerly on her split lip in an effort to stop the bleeding. This is England in the twenty-first century. Of course they’ll find her.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter! I hope you're all still 'enjoying' the story - despite its plot :)
> 
> Double chocolate chip cookies for all who kudos/review and please don't hesitate to leave constructive criticism either, I know my grammar could use a few pointers, hehe


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No rescue, but there's hope...

Over at Steven’s house, Matt has been staring at the digital clock of his boss’ blue-ray player for the better part of an hour. Arthur and Karen had opted to try and get some sleep in one of the guestrooms. Sue has gone to bed as well, but Steven is still in the large chair near the fire place.

It’s seven in the morning, which means that Alex has been missing for thirteen hours now and Matt’s been up for twice that long. He knows he should try and get some rest. It probably won’t be long until the media get wind of Alex’s disappearance. There’s always someone who involves them, that’s one lesson he’s learned well over the last three years.

“Why were you at the airport?” Steven asks, abruptly cutting through the comfortable and lengthy silence.

Matt shrugs. “No reason.”

“Matt.”

“I was just being a good friend.” He can’t quite look the other man in the eyes and shifts uneasily in his chair instead.

With a gleeful little smile tinged with empathy, Steven takes another sip of his tea. “Is that so?”

Choosing to ignore the obvious fishing, Matt changes the subject quickly. “What happens to her? River, I mean.”

But his boss only shakes his head. “Spoilers.”

“You wouldn’t get rid of her, would you? Not so soon after the Ponds. I don’t think the Doctor could take it. She’s the woman who married him, who killed and saved him. Life would be awfully dull without River Song to piss off a Sontaran or two.”

“I’m not telling you anything, mate.”

“And why not? You’ve told her. She always knows. ‘s rather insufferable about it too. I just want to know if she’ll be back.” He realizes belatedly how childish that last bit sounds.

He hates not knowing when or if Alex will return to Who after this shoot. She won’t be in the Christmas-episode, he does know that. It must be worse for the Doctor, knowing that one last trip – Derillium – is still to come, but not knowing when, or how often he’ll see her in between. Art imitating life imitating art.

Matt sighs.

“Next time, bring her flowers.”

The dryly put non-sequitur throws Matt for a second. “What?”

But Steven only smiles impishly.

“It wasn’t, it’s not... I wasn’t trying to be _romantic_. Not yet, anyway.” He mumbles the afterthought, willing himself not to _blush_ in front of Steven bloody Moffat.

“Suit yourself,” the older man relents easily, “but subtlety won’t get you far.”

“I don’t want to mess it up, or pressure her. What if I scare her away?”

Steven’s trademark manic cackle suddenly fills the room and Matt doesn’t know whether to go with surprise or insult. What’s so funny about him trying to be considerate?

Fortunately he doesn’t have to wait for an explanation this time, even if it comes with a side of snickering.

“She’s a grown woman, Matthew. Asking her out on a date won’t traumatize her and I dare say she knows how to hurt you if you do pressure her too much.” He trails off on the last bit and just like that the mood turns dark.

They’re both thinking the same thing – Alex would fight whoever took her, but would she even get a chance?

Suddenly it feels wrong to even _think_ about potential dates.

On the side table between them, Steven’s iPhone buzzes into life. It’s screen flashes for attention and breaks through the dark thoughts that have taken hold of them.

“Looks like the press have gotten hold of the story.”

Sure enough the words have barely been uttered or Matt’s cell springs to life as well. The police had briefed them not to say anything and if they absolutely had to, to only give away ‘no comment’. If the letter that had been found in Alex’s apartment was written by the same person who took her, he clearly did not appreciate her being in the spotlight.

Actively involving the media in the search for her could potentially piss him off. God knows what would happen then.

Matt repeats those instructions in sotto voice to his agent. Each time he is forced to think ahead, whether it be because of work or publicity or Salome, his throat constricts. Because each time he thinks ahead – minutes or hours or _days_ – it drives home how badly this could all end.

He is a grown man of thirty, with a successful career and a generally pretty awesome life and the only things he wants are the comfort of his mother’s smothering hugs and Alex Kingston smiling at him, safe and sound.

====

She’s not a pessimist. An realistic optimist, or optimistic realist, yes. Alex tries to hope, to believe in her family and friends and people as a whole. But sometimes reality is a cold, uncompromising bitch. Sometimes no one comes through, no one gets saved. Today is one of those times.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach she watches the shadows cast by the small window move across her cell. Hours are trickling by and no one is coming for her.

For hours now she’s been trying to chafe through the rope holding her. Her arms and shoulders ache from the repeated up and down motion, the muscles acidic, but she can’t afford to stop. No one is coming. Her only option is to take a leaf out of River Song’s book and save herself.

So she keeps chafing, only pausing to listen for movement upstairs and pluck at the knot that binds her wrists. Her manicurist Is going to give her hell for damaging her nails this badly and there’ll be no high-fiving an overexcited Matt for a while. But those are small prices to pay.

She hopes they’re the only prices she’ll have to pay.

See? Optimist.

Joe – the shy part of him – has come back down twice with tea, but refused to untie her so she could drink it herself. She can hear him move around upstairs, his heavy foots steps accompanied by whistling or DIY-sound effects. Hammering and drilling. Apparently the place really is a fix-me-upper.

ER had plenty of plotlines centred around psychiatric patients, but try as she might, she can’t quite stop worrying enough about her predicament to pluck anything helpful from her memories. So she keeps chafing and running through Steven’s script for the Ponds’ last episode over and over in her head because right now it’s easier to feel sorry for River than to feel sorry for herself.

She does love River Song and will be sorry to see her go when the time comes. River has given her career a second wind, that alone is something to be grateful for. It’s said that only two percent of aspiring actors actually manages to make a living doing what they love. Alex has always considered herself blessed to be counted among those. Of course she chose to work less after having Salome, but between her savings from ER and Florian’s salary, that hadn’t been a difficult choice to make.

And oh that is a bad road to go down. She can feel herself tear up. After everything they’d been through to get Salome, those days were so happy, so joyful.  She’s not unhappy now, but she won’t have that kind of happiness again and it’s a bit of a depressing thought.

Back to the script – she’s already dreading Karen’s farewell. That girl can really turn on the waterworks and with such commitment too. In Utah, Amy’s shock and grief over the Doctor’s supposed death left all of them out of sorts for hours.

They are a talented bunch – Team Tardis, and she’s privileged to be part of the start of three brilliant careers. It’ll be interesting to see how Karen fares in LA, where the competition is so much stiffer but where the redhead will bring a welcome British (okay, Scottish) voice among the dime-a-dozen hot, American blondes.

She slackens her arms, breathing through the fire licking along her muscles. God, the only thing that has ever hurt more is Salome’s birth and the pay-off then – a beautiful, red-faced and screaming little girl with ten perfect little fingers and ten perfect little toes – will never be matched.

But no, wrong thing to think about right now. She can’t afford tears. Reluctantly she continues her work on the rope. Pain an excellent distraction.

Arthur then – relaxed, comfortable and oh so knowledgeable Arthur, as good as he is on the small screen, she’s seen him on stage and he is simply breathtaking. It’s rare for someone so young to have such a respect and understanding of classical theatre.

And Matt Smith. Enthusiastic and brilliant. Doctor Who’s own personal rock-star. He loves the attention and the opportunities that lie ahead. Arthur beats him on technical knowledge, but talents like Matt’s are oh so rare. She can only hope her guidance and tips will be useful to him in –

Unexpectedly her upper body slumps forward, all tension gone. The sudden jolt snaps her out of her thoughts.

_Oh_.

She rolls her shoulders not quite able to believe what the extra room to move means.

She’s free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had time to thank each of you personally for commenting, your comments are lovely and terrific motivation to keep the story going. 
> 
> Unfortunately between a massive project nearing its deadline and planning a wedding for friends - it's a bit hectic. No worries though, I'll stick to the posting schedule. Can't leave Alex on her own for too long...
> 
> If you feel the story can be improved in any way, please let me know :) Until next week!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpectedly her upper body slumps forward, all tension gone. The sudden jolt snaps her out of her thoughts. 
> 
> Oh.
> 
> She rolls her shoulders not quite able to believe what the extra room to move means.
> 
> She’s free.

Alex stares at her hands. Each of her wrists is adorned with a simple piece of brown rope, the ends of which are frayed due to her relentless chafing. Her nails are broken, some torn to the point of bleeding and only now that she sees the damage does she realize her fingers _hurt_.

As a matter of fact, everything hurts. She can feel the bruises on her throat every time she tries to swallow and her arms feel like lead. The headache is back, though not quite as intense as it had been.

But more importantly; most importantly: she’s _free_.

So now what?

Her heart is hammering so loudly in her chest, she can barely hear her own thoughts. What is she supposed to do now? Wait until he leaves or goes to sleep and risk her captor discovering her handiwork, or make a run for it and risk being caught escaping.

Either way, it’s all or nothing. Even she is not optimistic enough to think Joe will be nice about it if he catches her, no matter the scenario.

Eyes closed, Alex tries to even her breathing. Whatever she chooses to do, she needs to calm down first. At least having her arms free means that she can rub circles on her temples and finally scratch that itch near the bridge of her nose.

The left side of her face is sensitive to the touch. Bruised, probably, from when he hit her earlier. It’s the first time in her life that someone has hit her off screen. Even with her first husband, no matter how explosive their fights, he’d never lain a hand on her.

She feels even worse for slapping sweet Matt all those times and this latest script called for her to do so again. Poor dear, this bloody hurts. At least she won’t have to hit him this hard.

Gingerly she presses bloodied fingers against her swollen bottom lip, idly wondering what she looks like now – a mess surely. Upstairs Joe is still toiling away at his disturbing fantasy. She can hear him hammering and drilling.

It’s probably her best shot to make a run for it while he’s making noise like that. She’ll need the noise to cover up the creaking of the basement door.

Right then.

The adrenaline pumping through her system makes her nauseous and her heart beats too quickly. Is she really going to do this? Can she? There is so much at stake, it nearly chokes her. Her freedom, her life. Her daughter.

She can’t just sit here and wait for help that might not come. It hadn’t come. Maybe Florian had thought her uninterested and simply flown Salome back to the States. Her colleagues wouldn’t miss her until Monday and she’d not had any plans for the weekend that involved anyone other than her daughter.

God, maybe no one missed her at all.

She tries not to take it as a sad commentary on her personal life. But well, it rather is, isn’t it?

Alex crawls onto her knees, slowly and deliberately so as to not aggravate her headache too much and toes off her heels, immeasurably relieved that she is still wearing her jeans and blouse, even if the latter’s white fabric is dotted and streaked with blood. Every muscle – including ones she never knew she had – protests, but she breathes through it.

Steady as she goes.

The room starts spinning as soon as she raises her head to stand at her full height and she all but falls against the nearest wall for support. Slow, deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth bring with them some semblance of control. Her heart is beating madly – a loud thump-thump that refuses to settle and her headache flares up once more.

There are so many things about this plan that could go wrong. She shudders to think what might happen to her if she doesn’t succeed. Between the thin mattress she’d been lying on and the bottom of the stairs – all of six feet – she changes her mind a dozen times.

Joe will have to go out at some point and if not he’ll certainly have to sleep. She could just wait it out, pray that he won’t notice her untied hands – that someone will find her. She is no River Song, has no means of defending herself against someone that much taller and stronger than herself.

But there’s no telling what Joe will do to her if she stays and she doubts he’ll be happy to just leave her to rot in his basement. No if a ‘family’ is part of his fantasy.

In the end, the thought of her daughter gets her to climb onto the first step of the stairs.

It creaks.

Alex nearly flies back to the cot, heart in her throat.

Frozen in place she listens desperately for any clue about Joe’s whereabouts. She can _feel_ his presence; all her sense so attuned to pick up even the slightest threat that it feels as if he is right behind her, all the time. But there are no footsteps and there’s no creaking of the floor above her. She could just run for it, throw all caution in the wind and make a mad dash to freedom.

God, she _wants_ to.

At this rate she’ll drop from sheer exhaustion before she even makes it up the stairs.

But she doesn’t. It feels like eons, but she makes it to the top a few steps at a time while Joe is hammering or drilling away at whatever he’s fixing. She does nearly faint because she’s been holding her breath for too long, too desperately. By the time she reaches the door, her head is pounding as loudly as her heart and terror has her firmly in its clutches.

The sound of the drill dies out until there’s nothing left but eerie silence. What if he decides to check up on her now?

His heavy footsteps come closer and Alex glances back at the mattress in panic. It’s too far, she’ll never make it back before he catches her. Paralyzed, she stand at the top of the rickety stairs, hand on an old, copper doorknob. Please, please, _please_ , he can’t come for her now.

She doesn’t breathe again until she hears his footsteps move away. The relief that floods over her is so strong she nearly drops to her knees.

Hours – but probably seconds – later, the machine whirrs to life again. This is it. She has to act now, before he stops again. But in her indecision and fear she waits, and every second she waits is a second she can’t run. If he stops drilling thirty seconds from now, it might be long enough to find her way out of the house. But how long is she standing here, waiting? Five? Ten? Twenty seconds probably won’t be enough to escape, and ten certainly not.

Paralyzed by fear she listens as the drilling dies away again. “Come on,” she hisses – then startles from the sound of her own voice. Once more, somewhere to her left the machine whirrs to life and almost as quickly stops.

Her stomach protests against the constant influx of adrenaline, rolling in fear and nausea. Her body is begging her to just curl up in a corner and sleep. That’s not the escape she’s going for.

Once more there’s sputtering as the machine is switched on again. Alex takes a deep breath to steel herself.

One.

Two.

Three.

The old door creaks as she carefully turns the knob and pushes it open. Almost immediately the sound of drilling increases. Throat tight, she sticks out her head and takes in the rundown hall way. By some miracle the front door is just across the hall. Seven or eight feet at most. And her captor is near, but not within sight.

It’s all or nothing now. And oh god, she’s going to be sick.

But Joe is still drilling and somehow her body cooperates. One bare foot in front of the other on the worn wooden floor, just keep _moving,_ Alex. Her eyes are fixed on the front door. She worries irrationally that if she takes her eyes off it for just a second, her means of escape will vanish.

The floor creaks and Alex freezes instantly.

She’s so close, just two or three more steps and she’ll be able to touch the weathered wood. Just a few seconds more and she can make a run for it.

Her heart is beating louder and faster still. She’s pretty sure that by now her whole body is expanding and contracting with every beat, but even if it is, it’s still working and she makes it to the door.

But barely has she sucked in and released a shaky breath of relief, or the drilling stops and silence falls.

Her eyes flick back and forth between the thin chain on the front door and the second door at her left. Joe has to be somewhere behind that one. There’s the clattering of machinery being put down, followed by a heavy thud and – _no, no, no, no_ – footsteps.

Alex scrambles for the door, trying desperately to slide the small chain out of its slip with shaking fingers. The hairs on the back of her neck rise and every molecule, every atom in her body comes to attention.

He’s coming for her.

The metal links jingle sharply and in her desperation she yanks the door open before she’s actually undone the chain. The wood creaks and the chain screeches, but both refuse to budge. “Please. _Please_!”

To her left, the other door opens.

Eyes firm on the door in front of her – child’s logic – she tries again, and again, fingers all but clawing at the lock. At this point she knows it’s futile, but at the same time it _cannot_ be, so she reaches for her freedom even as a large hand curls around her wrist and yanks her backwards.

Alex stumbles until her back collides with something solid, a split second before a solid fist connects with the left side of her face. She blinks, dazed and her vision blurry for a moment. Pain comes on the heels of clarity as her eyes focus again and find Joe’s rage-filled face.

“Stupid bitch,” he hisses as he raises his hand again.

Instinctively Alex tries to duck under his raised arm and bolt. It’s futile – of course it is – Joe grabs her by the throat and slams her back against the wall. Gathering her wits, she tries the only thing left. She begs. “Please, let me go. _Please_.”

“Oh I don’t think so, ungrateful, little whore.” The hand around her throat tightens down and he forces his mouth against her in a brutal kiss. Pain blossoms out from her split lip, for a moment obscuring what’s actually happening.

As soon as it sinks in, Alex struggles with all her might to pull her face away from his. He does pull away, but squeezes around her throat until she can’t breathe at all and her lungs threaten to burst, a visceral pain running below her breastbone. With his other hand, Joe makes good on his earlier promise. He hits her with such force, Alex sees stars.

She’s still reeling from the blow, gasping for breath when he unceremoniously drags her off the wall by her neck. She trips over her own feet, scrambling to keep up with his angry directions, to keep _breathing_.

She only realizes what he’s doing a split-second before she’s tumbling down the stairs. Every instinct she’s ever had takes over and miracle above miracle she doesn’t fall until the final steps. Her ankle twists and then she loses all control over her body. Her shoulder connects sharply with the basement wall – a sickening crack and sharp pain that radiated down her left arm registers just a moment before the side of her head hits the bricks as well.

She can hear Joe bounding after her, his steps down the stairs foreboding drums.

Primal fear like she’s never felt before thrums in her heart and races through her veins. He’s going to kill her. She’s going to die alone in a god forsaken place without ever seeing her daughter again. Lord knows how long before someone misses her – before they find her.

Alex curls into a small ball, whimpering for relief and her eyes shut tight against reality. Her entire body hurts and her head is about to split in two. Her captor is talking to her from far away, voice distorted but so, so angry. There’s another blow to her side, so hard it forces her further into the basement. And then finally, blessedly, the dark edges of her vision creep up and swallow her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me...


	10. Chapter 10

It’s well in the afternoon when Matt, Arthur and Karen venture out of the comfort of Steven’s home and head back to their own apartments. His two friends look a little worse for wear, but they’ve managed to get some sleep at least. Matt, on the other hand, looks like a ghost if Karen’s to be believed.

He really doesn’t care.

There’ll be paparazzi waiting for them; the story of Alex’s disappearance has been plastered all over the internet for most of the day.

Sure enough, the street that houses them is stuffed with TV-vans and journalists. He can pick out every major newspaper – though he uses the term lightly. They recognize Matt’s car immediately and the crowd moves as one, refocusing themselves on his vehicle as it slowly crawls down the street.

Karen curses under her breath, and a quick glance in the rear-mirror shows Arthur’s face set in quiet anger. “Ignore them,” Matt mutters as much to himself as to his friends.

He manages to park right across the building’s main entrance and the three of them get out of the car amidst shouted questions and microphones shoved into their faces. They say nothing – not even a ‘no comment’ – and he does his best to tune out the questions as much as possible, lest he loose his cool.

Karen’s hands shake when she unlocks the door and almost instantly Arthur is at her side, a comforting hand on the small of her back. Mindful of the press, Matt repositions himself to block his friends from the camera’s view.

He’s not jealous, exactly. No, he’s not jealous at all. It’s just that – it was supposed to be him and Alex. This was how it was how it happened in his head; friends first, then fumbling their way into something more. Of course he was always too chicken to actually say or do something – something that couldn’t be misinterpreted as friendly flirting.

And he’s tried to more than a few times actually. But it’s always just a little too easy, a little too safe to smirk and pretend he’s just joking. Sometimes there’s a certain look in her eye that makes him think she might be on to him. It’s wistful thinking, he knows that.

But a part of him, a small part of his brain, his heart (and admittedly, another not-so-small part as well) holds out hope. It’s stupid, but he just can’t let her go and he’s tried. He’s tried for the sake of friendship, for the sake of professionalism, for the sake of freedom and one-night stands. That last one in particularly had been woefully ineffective. Who cared about one-night stands when they could have Alex bloody Kingston. Honestly.

A sudden push to his shoulder causes him to lose his balance and stumble. Surprised, he turns to look and comes face to face with Karen. The redhead is watching him with a mix of irritation and affection, hands on her hips. “Yo Smith, anybody ho-home?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Your keys.”

Confused, Matt runs a hand through his fringe. “What keys?”

“ The keys to your apartment. So that you can unlock the door, and I-don’t-know, go inside? You’ve been standing there for two minutes just staring at the door.”

Sure enough, they are in fact standing in the hall way connecting their apartments. When did that happen? Out of habit, his eyes slide to the door on the far end of the corridor. His throat tightens. Alex’s door. “Right.” He forces a watery smile, but it’s lost on Karen. She’s followed his line of sight and is staring at Alex’s door too, her bottom lip quivering.

“Anyway,” she says at length with a wobbly voice, “I just came back to ask.. you know, let us know, if you... if you hear anything. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Matt watches his friend all but run back to the safety of her place. Gathering his wits, he fishes his keys out of his pocket and lets himself in. He’s just dumped his stuff on the side table and switched on the telly when his phone starts ringing.

When he sees the called-ID, he can’t help but feel relieved – even if he’s been trying to protect them from this. Matt exhales and shuts his eyes before accepting the call and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hi Mom.”

“Matt, my darling, why didn’t you call?” The warm sympathy in his mother’s oh-so familiar voice looses something inside his chest and suddenly tears are pricking in the corners of his eyes. He blinks them back stubbornly. He’s a grown man of thirty, he does not cry, not even over Alex Kingston.

“I’m fine,” he reassures, “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Always so considerate. You were as a child you know, always offering to help out with chores.” His mom chuckles. “That certainly changed when you hit puberty, didn’t it.”

“Yeah, well, a boy’s gotta do what a boy’s gotta do.”

A sarcastic ‘hmmm’ is all he gets out of her. Toeing off his shoes, he reclines in his favourite armchair, head tilted back and eyes closed again. “Was it really the cab driver?” His mother wants to know. Ha, as if he has the answers. If he did Alex would’ve been safe and sound by now. But before he can even attempt to answer, she barrels on. “That’s what the news said. It’s a scary thought, isn’t it, dear? You’re so vulnerable in a cab, especially a woman alone. I don’t think I’ll step into one again.”

Matt chuckles darkly. “You never do. Dad drives you everywhere.”

“And he’d better. Trust me, your father is rewarded well for it.”

The mental image that conjures up makes him shudder. “I’m sure. How have you and dad been?”

“Fine, fine. It’s Surrey dear, nothing happens. Your dad still doesn’t want to retire – oh and you’ll never guess who’s back in town. Claudia Walsh. You were going to marry her when you were six, remember? Oh you were such a cute couple, Matt. She’s cleaned up nicely.”

Matt sighs. Really. “Mum.”

“Not too thin, lovely hair. She’s an architect, did you know that? Only two years younger than you too —“

“Mum!”

“But I suppose that’s not really what you’re looking for, is it?”

“It’s not.” The words are out of his mouth before he’s realized what she’s asking, or what he’s saying. Eyes wide open, he shoots up in his chair. “Wait, what now?”

“Oh Matt, give your poor old mom some credit. I know my son.”

Suddenly hot under the collar, he scratches at his cheek, glancing surreptitiously around the room to make sure his mother isn’t hiding in one of the shadows.

Succinctly, she drives her point home. “And don’t scratch at your face with dirty nails.”

“But I—how did you? I never...” He’s not even sure what he’s trying to say, but his mum does. Of course she does, she’s his _mother_.

“You talk about her an awful lot, dear. I’m old, I’m not deaf.”

“I never...Is it really that obvious? I never told her. I never really tried. She scares the hell out of me, mom.”

The confession leaves him feeling dangerously vulnerable and exposed – as if suddenly the crush he’s been nurturing for two years has become a tangible, real thing. This is not the half-joking, half-ribbing type of talk he’s had with his friends. This is real. He’s telling his mother. It has to be real if he’s telling his mother, right?

“And now... what if she... what do I _do_?”

The soothing hum she responds with ease his racing heart a little, but he doesn’t miss how she skips over the very real and present fear. “Far be it from me, dear, to dissuade any admiration of older women—“

“Mum, really!”

“—but you need to look out for yourself, Matt. Have you really thought about it, rationally?”

It’s really not fair. Of course this discussion would’ve come up at some point. If he ever found his balls and told Alex how he felt, anyway. And of course his mother would worry – but did she have to do it now? It’s not as if the age difference between himself and Alex is an issue at the moment, considering how much of a non-issue _they_ are.

“I know it’s easy to lose yourself in the now, but you need to think about the future too. When you’re forty, she’ll be sixty. And what about children?” She sighs heavily, voice soft, “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but think about it. You know we’ll support you no matter what.”

“It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know. She might not even be...” he trails off at that. Might not be what? Interested? _Alive_? The first he’s planned for, but the latter... What if the bastard kills her? What if they never find her. His imagination readily runs wild with that thought and squeezing his eyes shut against the possibilities only brings images of shallow graves and a dark figure with a shovel.

“You’re a good man, dear and quite handsome too – even if you inherited your father’s chin. If you truly love her, she’s a lucky woman.”

He blushes a little before sobering. “Thanks ma. But I just can’t stop thinking she might be, I mean, I might never see her again. Mom, what do I _do_?”

“You pray Matthew, to anything and everything that might listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Hang in there you lot! I won't drag it out much longer, promise
> 
> And thank you all so much for the kudos and comments, they brighten my day and make it so much easier to write this horrible story.
> 
> 'Till next week :)


	11. Chapter 11

 

Alex comes to in a world of hurt. Her head and face are pounding, pain flaring up with every heartbeat. A band of pressure is wrapped around her throat and every time she breathes it digs into her skin. Her left eye refuses to open. She knows she’s in trouble, but her thoughts are foggy and slow.

Right now, she just wants the pain to stop. Lying down seems like a good idea even if she dreads the prospect of moving, there’s a sharp pressure on her middle and her shoulder is killing her. Yes, lying down will help.

But as soon as she moves with any sense of purpose she finds herself restrained. Metal clanks against metal and the sharp ringing passes through her with a wave of nausea in its wake. Alex grunts.

With the new surge of pain and adrenaline come the memories and fear seizes her again. How long had she been out? And what can she possibly do now?! She can’t chafe through metal. The robust links leave more wriggle room, but she can barely feel her left hand, let alone slide it through the unrelenting chain.

Somehow this time he’s also wrapped the chain around her neck. She can feel the metal digging into the thin skin there and agitating the bruises he’s left earlier, it’s just tight enough to remind her of its presence every time she breathes or swallows.

There’s nothing she can do and she’s too tired, too sluggish to panic about it.

The finality of that thought tears down the last vestiges of hope. She had her chance and she blew it. Exhausted, hurt and terrified, Alex cries.

====

Every time his phone rings, an odd mixture of dread and hope churns in his stomach. Matt isn’t sure how much longer he can take this god-awful uncertainty. His nerves are shattered. Where is she? Have they found her? How is she? Will she be okay – will she not?

Of course every brief flare of hope and terror is quickly followed by disappointment. His friends are calling, colleagues and family, his agent and a number of shameless ‘journalists’, but not the police, or Alex’s parents. Or Alex herself.

It’s been twenty-four hours now. He should probably think about getting some dinner. How can he eat, feeling like this? The mere thought of food makes his stomach rebel. In fact he doesn’t feel like doing much of anything and mostly just stares through the flickering telly into nothingness.

He should have just told her.

Sure, she probably would have laughed in his face and/or ran – he could have ruined their tentative friendship, but it’s got to have been better than this.

It’s horribly selfish of him, because it certainly would not have helped Alex in her current predicament. He just can’t stop picturing her. As River Song on set, with that sinful twinkle in her eyes and her curls wild around her face – as herself between takes; softer, but always quick with an innuendo or laugh. And _God_ , the look on her face when he – the Doctor – was being an idiot and hurt his wife.

Those were the scenes he nearly broke character. When she looked so bloody heartbroken he just wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss everything better. Knowing how she kissed, only made it worse. Too bad Steven wasn’t as enthusiastic about a Torchwoord-cameo as Matt was.

And oh it is so very wrong to think about kissing Alex now, when god-knows-what is happening to her, but he’s realized long ago that thinking about, or talking to, or watching Alex Kingston is pretty much always followed by more baser thoughts. How is anyone supposed to keep a straight mind in her presence? She can’t even manage it herself.

Right now, when a mentally deranged creep is doing god-knows-what to her – and he really cannot think about that either because he’ll fall apart, his chest will burst with fury and fear – he needs to stop _thinking_ about it all.

The knowledge that there’s beer in his fridge mocks him, two or three might relax him a little, six could quite possibly allow him to sleep. Or it might make him even more depressed. Besides, he reasons with his more pessimistic self, they might find her and he would not – could not – be drunk when that happened.

In fact, he would do one better; he will be sober and not smell like a men’s locker room or look like a hobo. That actually counts as two betters, he decides while rummaging around in the bathroom cabinet for his razor and shaving cream. Probably only the one if you’d ask Alex. She has standards after all and Matt figures she’ll probably count smell and appearance under the personal hygiene moniker.

Meh, he can let her have that one.

“Look at you.” His reflection nods back in acknowledgement, bags under his eyes and a day-old scruff on his cheeks and chin. “Arguing with the missus. Certifiable, you are.” Rolling his eyes at himself, he decides that enough is enough. He is not behaving like a love-sick teenager, that can come later, when she’s safe again.

To occupy himself he tries practicing his lines while quickly dragging the electric razor across his skin and letting the shower run until the water’s warm. It doesn’t help his mood much. The Ponds’ farewell. How is he going to do this without Karen? Jenna is lovely, but him and Kazza grew up together those first few months. Sure she’s a crazy, loud, terrifying Scot, but she’s _his_ crazy, loud and terrifying, bloody Scot.

Also, so very easy to get riled up. He’ll miss teaming up with Arthur to get her voice to that particular screeching level.

He dreads the final farewell scene. Karen’s tears are impressive and even for cool blokes like himself, hard to ignore. Never mind that he’ll have to be the Doctor. It’s a challenge because more than any other episode up until this point; the Doctor will suffer a great personal loss. This requires full out acting, from the highest high to the deepest low. Elation and attraction and dread and such _loss_.

The warm water pelts down on his shoulders as he does a quick little dance under the stream to get everything wet and adjust to the temperature. He has a whole routine of body wash and shampoo and a rinsing order – but for now he just stands there, face turned up into the spray.

It feels as if everything he’s done – every scene they’ve shot in the last three years has been an audition of this one episode. The Ponds’ final farewell. And he’s a little jealous of Alex, who gets to play River’s emotions close to her chest. For her the challenge will be in allowing River’s heartbreak to show through in small, subtle gestures and looks whereas for the Doctor it’s all out, no holds barred emotion.

Oh he hopes they’ll do the writing justice. The Ponds deserve a brilliant send-off and this has all the ingredients for one, he just has to not mess it up.

Quickly he rinses the shampoo from his hair and towels himself off. He bumps his hip twice against the sink and how is there not a dent in either the sink or his hip by now? The bathroom is so small, he walks into the porcelain monstrosity more often than not. You’d think he’d learn.

A day’s worth of grime lighter, it suddenly hits him how exhausted he is. His skin is pleasantly tight from the shower and his eyelids heavy. With his hair still dripping, he throws himself on his bed. Maybe a bit of sleep will help contain the fear boiling in his chest. Deciding that yes, it will, Matt crawls under the covers and bunches his favourite pillow up under his head.

He’s been up for so long that he drifts off as soon as his eyes fall shut, imagining as every night, Alex to be next to him so he could sling an arm around her waist and press himself close to her. God, he’s so far gone.

====

The Phonecall, capitalized and all, comes not long after he’s dropped off into sleep out of sheer exhaustion. Matt scrambles for the flashing device. So many thoughts flash through his mind it bloody well hurts. He doesn’t even look at the screen before picking up. “Yeah?”

 “Matt.”

Oh god. Alex’s mum. Shit. “Mrs. Kingston.”

“ They found her.”

Three words. Three simple, common words and he can’t think. There’s too much to process at once. Three words, the possibilities they carry, the consequences, the quiver in the woman’s voice. His brain is short circuiting, he can _feel_ it. Things, neurons, whatever, are firing but missing whatever they need to hit to make him _think_. 

“We’re getting in the car now,” Mrs. Kingston continues after a long moment of silence. “She... they, they’re taking her to the hospital in Cardiff, I forgot—“

“St. Davids.” He leaps out of his bed, madly grappling about for the clothes he discarded without thought just a few short hours ago.

“Yes. Can you?”

“Yeah. Yes. On it. I’ll...”He’ll what? Alex is alive, she has to be. They wouldn’t take her to a hospital if she isn’t, right? So what exactly can he, Matt Smith, do? Flail about and accidentally rip out her IV?

He takes a deep breath, hopping around to slide his pants on without falling over. He must be able to do something useful.

“Should I... should I bring her clothes? I’ve got a key.” He hastens to add. He was not suggesting breaking into his co-star’s apartment.

“That’s all right, dear. I’ve got a bag. Just...” on the other end of the line, Alex’s mother swallows hard, “we don’t want her to be alone.”

“Yeah. I’ll – uhm – I’ll tell her, you know...”

“Thank you, Matt. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“See you,” he answers lamely. His half-dressed reflection is staring back at him from the window, to his left the aggressively bright alarm clock says it seven minutes past twelve. He’s slept two hours, looks like shit and it’s Sunday. And all of those things are good things, because they _found_ her.

Alex is alive.

It’s the only thought his brain is able to comprehend. In three minutes flat he’s in his car and backing out of the parking spot. _Alex is alive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well dears, I hope you made it to this point and enjoyed this little easter egg. The question is of course; what's next?
> 
> Happy Easter all!


	12. Chapter 12

 

It takes him just under fifteen minutes to get to the hospital. He jams his car in the first space he sees and all but runs to A&E, heading straight for the information desk, face hidden under a dark hoodie. The longer it takes the press to get here, the better.

The nurse behind the bullet proof glass smiles kindly up at him as he pulls back his hoodie and smiles tightly at her. “Well hello again, Mr. Smith. How may we help you this time?”

Thank god for name tags because even though the blonde woman looks familiar he honestly can’t remember her name. “Crystal, hi. Uhm, I’m here for a colleague, she’s just been brought in I think.”

She looks at him blankly. “I haven’t seen any—oh.”

“Oh?”

“One of the rigs got back a little while ago, I’ll check for you, okay?”

Not really assured by her wide smile, Matt nods anyway. “Yeah. Thanks.”

It takes forever, which he spends pacing back and forth in the small waiting area. He can tell he’s being recognized, but at least everyone there is too occupied with their own troubles to actually come up and talk to him.

When the nurse finally returns, the tight look on her young face makes his heart falter. “She’s here,” he breathes, suddenly unsure if he wants to know the answer.

“They brought her in a while ago. The Doctors are looking at her now.” With a hand on his shoulder, Crystal guides him gently to one of the empty chairs. Brown eyes regard him sympathetically, genuinely, “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you anything more.”

“But she’s going to be okay? Right?”

Something loosens in his chest when the nurse nods. “Yes, I think she will be.”

“Okay. Good. That’s good.” He dares a smile of his own. “That’s really good. Just, tell her I’m here, would you?”

Crystal pats his shoulder. “I will.”

The first twenty minutes, Matt busies himself texting Karen and Arthur in a rapid fire back and forth, informing them that yes, Alex has been found and she is at the hospital, and no, he didn’t know how she was, but it probably wouldn’t do much for both of them to come over as well. The press would surely pick up on that and besides they would only drive each other and every staff member and patient up the wall.

If he wants Alex all to himself first, he doesn’t tell his friends so.

They probably know anyway.

He doesn’t dare to move too far away from the nursing station to reach an area where he’s allowed to make calls, so he texts Steven as well and then his mom and sister because he just doesn’t tire of seeing the words _Alex is safe_ in all their variations.

But then, after all the texts have been sent and answered, fear creeps up on him again. Are the Doctors still examining her? Is she injured and how badly? What has that bastard done to her and what happened to him?

He gets up and paces and then sits down again when it earns him annoyed glares. He tries leafing through one of the gossip magazines and switches to hospital folders about horrid diseases when the rags only piss him off.

He fashions paper wads from one of the more damaged magazines and tries his hand at juggling for a while, then tries balancing one paper ball on each of his feet, but that only causes his back to cramp up. He even attempts to strike up a conversation with the very pregnant woman two chairs over, but she ignores him.

The coffee machine just around the corner amuses him for while – though the coffee taste like sewage and the tea is even worse. Which begs the question of how they managed that. It’s just hot water and dried leaves. You’d think there aren’t a whole lot of ways to mess that up, but ah the wonders of technology.

He’s contemplating giving the hot chocolate a go, when nurse Crystal walks up to him, a sympathetic smile on her thin lips. “She’d like to see you.”

His heart stutters in his chest. “Okay.” What does he say though? What can he say? Oh God, what if she cries? He’s terrible with crying women. He can’t very well make a joke or flirt with her, or even ask if she’s okay because of course, _of course_ she’s not okay.

Just how not okay is she?

They wind through the corridors of the hospital in silence. He tries paying attention to the route so he can find his way later, but his thoughts keep wandering off and he fails miserably. And then suddenly they’re there. Faced with the door that presumably leads to Alex’s room, Matt takes a deep breath.

“She might be a little loopy because of the painkillers the Doctors gave her and the bruises look worse than they are,” Crystal warns. “I’ll let her know you’re here.”

This is even worse than the waiting he’s done so far – and he’s done a lot of it over the last two days. But the nurse comes back quickly and motions him inside.

Carefully Matt ventures into the room, his eyes scanning over the pastel colours that are supposed to make the room soothing. They only work on his nerves. He rounds the only drawn curtain and there she is.

Unbidden, the first thought that comes to mind is that she looks like hell. The left side of her face is marred by dark blue and purple, ugly bruises which stand out sharply against her unusually pale skin. Her left eye is swollen and black and it hurts him just to look at her mouth. There’s an IV sticking into her right hand and her fingers are wrapped in gauze and band-aids. Her right leg, elevated and bandaged up to her knee, sticks out from under the covers. And her curls, oh her curls. Downtrodden and greasy, with none of their usual bounce and fluffiness.

For long moments he stares at the oval-shaped bruises scattered across her neck, some darker than others. And then he realizes they’re not ovals – they’re finger-impressions. The realization takes his breath away until his lungs burn. The bastard tried to choke her. How. How close had she come to dying?

He swallows hard and it takes every glimmer of courage, every ounce of will power he has to force a greeting through his constricted throat. “Alex.”

Her eyes – or rather her right eye – flies open and searches for his. “Salome,” she rasps urgently, struggling under the bedcovers, “Matt, where is my daughter?”

The unadultered panic in her voice draws him closer. He means to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but hesitates when he notices the sling around it. “She’s fine, she’s with your parents; safe.”

Alex relaxes a little at that, though it doesn’t look like she has much choice in the matter. Even turning her head looks to be costing a huge amount of energy and she can’t quite focus her gaze on him. “She’s safe? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

At his reassurance, Alex lets out a heavy sigh and sinks back into the bed, her eyes shut. “Thank God.”

He studies her for a long moment, taking in the sight and smell and _sounds_ of her while reigning in the overwhelming urge to hug her. She sounds nothing like herself; her voice thick and her pronunciation hindered by her swollen lip and the angry bruise on the corner of her mouth. Her breathing is a bit ragged and though it’s hard to read her expression underneath those horrid bruises, he thinks he sees traces of pain in the pull of her facial muscles.

How could anyone do this to her? Lovely, mad Alex Kingston. And how can he stand here and not tell her of all the _feelings_ threatening to burst out of his chest like some grotesque _Alien_ -scene.

But rather than vomiting his emotions all over her when she’s just been through a terrifying ordeal, he restrains himself and asks instead how she’s feeling.

She mumbles something unintelligible, sighs again and falls silent.

It takes him a while to realize she’s fallen asleep. Quietly Matt pulls up a chair and sits himself down as close to her as possible. He can’t help but gently brush her matted curls out of her face, his fingers lightly trailing her skin and carefully avoiding her bruises.

Shocked at his own forwardness, he quickly retreats his hand when she stirs.

What is he doing? She doesn’t need this and frankly, neither does he. He’d been falling hard enough without this immense urge to take care of her and protect her. But he can’t leave her, not like this and probably not ever. God, he’s in _so_ much trouble.

Just as he finally starts to relax again – she’s here, she’s alive – Alex suddenly jerks awake, her eyes wide with panic. “Salome, where’s Salome? Where is my daughter?!”

Without thinking he puts a hand on her shoulder. Irrationally her rejection hurts when she flinches from his touch. She’s never done that before, ever. “Alex, she’s fine. Salome is safe. She’ll be here soon.”

Facing him, recognition washes over her marred features and she breathes his name.

“Hi.”

“Oh God, I’m going to be sick.”

There’s a snarky comeback on the tip of his tongue that never makes it into sound waves. Tinged green around the edges, Alex rolls onto her side and empties the contents of her stomach on the shiny floor – and on Matt’s shoes.

She heaves again, her whole body shudders and rather than jump away, Matt moves towards her, gathering her mass of curls in one hand and using the other to stroke along her shoulders and neck. “Shhh. You’re going to be okay,” he assures awkwardly, fighting back his own tears. She’s shaking violently under his touch, too weak even to roll herself back when the nausea has passed and the retching has torn open her bottom lip. “You’re safe now. Everything is going to be fine.”

He helps her settle on her back, mindful of how and where he touches her. With a huff that comes out more like a sob, Alex drops her head back on the pillow. He finds a paper napkin on the tray next to her bed and carefully dabs at the blood trickling from her lip. The whimpers of pain that leave her throat cut right through him. “Your shoes, Matt, I’m –“

He shushes her quickly, swallowing hard at the sheen of tears in her eyes. “They’re just shoes. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I—“

“It’s fine – not the first time someone vomited just looking at me. Must be the chin, eh?”

She doesn’t laugh at his – admittedly awful – attempt to lighten the mood, even his best, widest grin doesn’t elicit a smile, or the merest hint of one. But none of those things matter because at least she gets the point he’s trying to make and stops apologizing.

On second thought, that might have little to do with him. With pain still etched into the lines of her face, Alex has drifted off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're not getting bored. Twelve chapters and not even thirty-six hours have passed. We have a while to go yet before the conclusion.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, they're lovely moments of joy in a couple of extremely hectic weeks. As ever, don't hesitate to point out flaws and things that don't make sense.
> 
> See y'all next week! :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter and the next are sort of cathartic. I'm not really happy with them but I've edited them over and over and they're not improving so, yeah.
> 
> Almost forgot: my medical knowledge comes from the interwebs and (not surprisingly) ER. In other words, it's faked. Who would've thought? ;)

Matt doesn’t dare to leave the room while Alex sleeps, her mother’s words still loud and clear in his mind. _We don’t want her to be alone_. He doesn’t want her to be alone either, so he changes out of his shoes, socks and trousers on the other side of the curtain while a junior staffer silently cleans the floor.

An unfamiliar nurse comes in a moment later with a pair of scrub bottoms and socks. He thanks her and is about to ask one of the million questions crammed into his head, when the door to Alex’s room opens and shuts again. A second or two later a tall, thin man in a white lab coat pokes his head around the curtain. Upon assessing the situation he steps up to Alex and fiddles with her IV.

“I’m Lisa and that’s Doctor Kaplan,” the nurse offers helpfully, just as Matt is halfway into the scrubs – one leg still bare. “He’ll be monitoring Miss Kingston. Doctor Kaplan, Matt Smith.”

Having finished the adjustments to Alex’s medication, the Doctor smiles warmly at Matt and shakes his hand with a firm grip. “Good to meet you, Mr. Smith.”

“Call me Matt. What’s wrong with her?” He blurts out the question before he can stop himself, hurriedly pulling up the scrubs and hastens to redeem himself. “She keeps falling asleep and forgetting what happened when she is awake – she’s going to be okay, right?”

From the corner of his eye he catches the almost imperceptible shake of her head Lisa gives. Taking the hint, Doctor Kaplan turns to Matt. “I’m sorry Mr. Smith, but without her express permission, I can only give out information about Ms. Kingston’s medical condition to direct family members.”

For a brief moment he considers lying, telling them that Alex is his fiancée and they’ve been keeping it quiet for the press. She’d probably tear him a new one if he tried that and the last thing she needs right now is a fake husband-to-be forced upon her. So instead he focuses on the only thing he truly cares about. “But she’s going to be okay, isn’t she?”

“I have no reason to think she won’t be.”

Matt resists the urge to shout at that. Don’t they get how important she is to him? Can’t they read it in his eyes? Everyone bloody else seems to be able to. “And the memory loss?”

“Temporary. Once we get some fluids and salt into her, she’ll perk right up.”

It’s awfully tempting to grab the Doctor by his (frankly ridiculously large) ear (honestly, Christopher Eccleston has got nothing on him) and drag him over and down to Alex. Does she look like perking up, Doctor? Someone used her for a punching bag, tried to _kill_ her – fluids and salt can’t magically heal _that_.

But Matt grinds his teeth instead and nods politely, mentally throwing daggers at the man as he scribbles something on Alex’s chart and leaves.

Lisa lingers, mouth twisted into a sympathetic half-smile. “She has a concussion,” she whispers in a low voice, “that’s why her memory is a little iffy – causes the vomiting too. She will be fine, Mr. Smith.”

She leaves before he can express gratitude, unsure why she’s breaking the rules but no less grateful for it.

Still it doesn’t really make him feel better or any less worried. What about the bruises on her face and neck, the sling on her arm, the bandages on her leg? What about the injuries he _can’t_ see?

He settles back in the chair next to Alex and attempts to just stop thinking.

It works quite well, because the next thing he knows, he is jolted awake by Alex shouting at him. “My daughter, Matt, where the hell is my daughter?!” His heart breaks at the desperation in her voice.

In the three seconds it takes him to realize that he’d fallen asleep and consequently wake up, Alex is struggling to sit up in her bed. The effort hurts her and a slight sheen of sweat belies how much the attempt is draining her. When she’s nearly ripped out her IV and her lip has started bleeding again, her breaths shallow and quick, he finally finds his words. “Alex, calm down, please. Salome is fine, safe. She’ll be here soon with your parents, just please calm down. You’re hurting yourself.”

Her tongue darts out to lick at the blood gathering on her lips and apparently the taste of it startles her out of her panic, because suddenly she is scanning the room like a trapped animal looking for a way out. His heart breaks a little more. “Where am I?”

Matt swallows. He would really rather not be the one to tell her. “In the hospital in Cardiff.”

“Why?”

He gestures helplessly at the sling around her shoulder, making a conscious effort to look into her eyes and not at the dark bruises that by now have almost swallowed up the left side of her face.

Alex twists her mouth in an achingly familiar ‘no shit, Sherlock’ manner. “I don’t remember how—“ but as she admits to it, realization blossoms on her face and she pales. “Oh.”

His only response is to nod, because honestly there’s nothing he can say to her that will make her feel any better.

“How bad?”

“The Doctors say you’ll be fine.”

It occurs to him that the way he watches her might be a little creepy, but he can’t look away as Alex studies her body. She is fascinating to him, the way her curls move almost independently from the rest of her and how her face can be so open and so closed at the same time. The warmth she radiates even now draws him in like a moth to a flame.

Having tested the sling around her arm and the function of her legs, she brings her right hand up to her face, eying her bandaged fingers for a moment and pokes at the bruises on her face , wincing when she hits a particular sensitive spot.

Her eyes find his again, pale blue and shining brightly with pain. “How do I look?”

Out of habit, he smirks at her. “No need to be vain, Kingston. We’re all friends here.”

She smiles back at him, matching his levity for a moment before her voice trails off in worry. “Thanks Mr. Chin, but I’d like to know if my daughter will be scarred for life after seeing me.”

“Of course not.” But his answer is too quick and she knows it.

Against his better judgement, Matt relents when she keeps pushing him. She really shouldn't see herself like this, but he understands that she wants to know what her daughter will face. Helpful as he is, he leaves her alone to look for a mirror.

As soon as he closes the door to her room behind him, he sags against the wall and runs his fingers through his hair in a desperate attempt to hold on to his emotions. Every second he’s in that room he wants nothing more than to bury his face in her curls and cry with relief, to melt into her and express exactly how he feels, how her disappearance had ripped his heart out. How it aches to see her so broken and how he’ll happily do anything, _everything_ to make her whole again.

Even if this is a hospital, even if there's police around waiting to interview both of them, even if she is under constant medical observation, he is uneasy every second she’s not in his sight. All those things don't put him nearly as much at ease as seeing her and talking to her.

It doesn't take him more than a few minutes to track down a nurse who finds him a small, hand-held mirror with an understanding look, but when he makes it back to Alex's room, she's fallen asleep again.

Hopefully when she wakes up she'll have forgotten about the mirror and so not to remind her, he attempts to quietly put it out of her sight on the window sill. Of course the last time he quietly accomplished anything it made the news, because stealth is just not one his qualities.

He misjudges the width of the sill and the mirror promptly tips over and falls. Miracle of miracles Matt catches it before it smashes to pieces, but not without nearly toppling over a chair and jamming his shin into the small bedside table.

Yeah. Even with a severe concussion Alex doesn't sleep through that.

Her eyes – eye, really – fly open and she all but shoots up – or at least tries to. Her yelp is one of pain and Matt just wants to crawl into a hole and die because he caused it. He caused her pain and if there's ever anything he wants to avoid at all cost, it is hurting Alex.

“Sorry, sorry. That was me, sorry.”

Her sight focuses on him and before he has a chance to respond to the fear so plainly written in her features, Alex relaxes. “Matt.”

“I found a mirror,” he offers sheepishly.

Alex takes a deep breath, eying him hesitantly before giving a curt nod. “Right. Let's see then.”

Reluctantly he hands over the mirror, carefully cataloguing every emotion that flashes across her marred face as he runs a hand through his hair and drops down in the chair next to her.

When her eyes find his again – bright with shock – he blurts without thinking. “I hope they put him away for a long, long time.”

If possible she pales further. “They can't.” And at his confusion. “He's dead.”

“Good.”

The sincerity of it startles even him, but he does mean it. He's never felt this way about death before, never hated someone enough to truly wish them gone. Well, clearly there is a first for everything.

Alex, however, does not appear to think so and at the regret on her face a horrible thought pops into his head. “How?”

She shakes her head mutely, eyes wet and downcast.

He doesn’t push her, even though her silence makes him nervous. Why won’t she tell him? Why is she struggling not to cry? That bastard hurt her, Matt can’t feel sorry for him, but perhaps Alex can. Her heart has always been bigger than his.

Eventually she finds her voice again. “Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you wearing scrubs?”

Despite everything, he chuckles when he catches her eye and bares a piece of his heart to her. “Obviously you just charm the pants off me, Kingston.”

He admits a tiny fraction of what he feels for her, smirking as he always does and she forces a smile back and it means everything and nothing all at once. Matt knows he’s leaving too much wriggle-room, can tell she doesn’t take his admission seriously. But for now that’s okay. For now, there are bigger things on his mind.

“Alex. What happened to...?”

“Joe,” she fills in softly. “Regular Joe. It’s not his real name – I don’t know what, he never...” She trails off, looking so small and vulnerable Matt aches with the desire to wrap his arms around her and offer his body as a shelter against her fears. He doesn’t and Alex finds the strength to continue on her own. “There was noise upstairs. Shouting and bonking and he came downstairs with a knife and – and... he made me go with him. It hurt, I’ve never... it hurt. Matt, I can’t...”

He wants to encourage her because he _needs_ to know. He needs to know what happened to her so that he can help. More than that however, he’s selfish and he needs to know what happened so he can stop imaging, stop picturing those horrible scenarios that have been plaguing him since she went missing.

Ready to push her just a little, he raises his head to look at her just in time to catch her pale and tinge green. She whimpers and he’s in motion instantly, fishing for the stainless steel bowl the nurse has left them.

This time he rescues his socks and scrubs and for thirty blessed seconds is as coordinated as necessary. He swoops the bowl up from the floor as Alex twists her upper body, and lifts it up in front of her in time to catch everything.

With his free hand he gathers her hair, heart breaking at the violent shudders that run through her.

“It’s okay,” he mutters softly, “I’ve got you.”

After he’s helped her settle back onto the pillows and rinse her mouth, she dozes off again. He’s not a Doctor – or is, but not a medical Doctor and the way Alex keeps falling asleep and waking disorientated is worrying him a great deal. Shouldn’t she be getting better by now?

She whimpers in her sleep, eyebrows screwed together and without thinking he reaches out to smooth his fingers over her forehead. “You have to be okay.” And it’s a demand, a plea, his fiercest wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for continuing to comment and kudo. It's a real kick to read what everyone thinks of the story (the power of spoilers - awesome!), so please keep going. There's virtual homemade cookies for everyone :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday and there's another DW episode without River, so I'm sad.

With Alex asleep, Matt takes stainless steel bowl and ventures out of her room in search for a nurse or Doctor. For the moment his need for answers overwrites his reluctance to leave her on her own.

The same nurse who handed him the mirror earlier greets him warmly when he comes up to her station. Jean Walsh, the nametag pinned to her rather generous chest reads. “Hi,” he returns sheepishly and holds out the bowl awkwardly. “She – Alex – Ms. Kingston – she’s been sick again.”

Jean takes in the contents of the bowl without flinching and pops it on her hip. She smiles warmly up at him, her large brown eyes kind and sympathetic. “Thank you. You caught it all then?”

“Yeah. Quick study, me.”

“Hmm, I bet, dear.” Her eyes move suggestively down his frame, but her gaze lacks the dirty implications Alex always manages so effortlessly and retain a motherly warmth instead. “How is she doing?”

Matt runs a hand through is hair. Shouldn’t she _know_? “She can’t stay awake for long and I think she’s in pain. And, well,” he gestures at the bowl between them. “I’m worried.”

“She was knocked about quite a bit, Mr. Smith. She’ll be out of sorts for a while, but I promise we’re keeping a close eye on her. In fact, the Doctor should be with her soon for another check up.” She assures after glancing at her watch. The northern lilt in her words probably does more to comfort him than her actual words do, but he thanks her and heads back to Alex.

True to the nurse’s word, the same lanky Doctor who Matt spoke to earlier lets himself into Alex’s room a short while later. The man greets him with a curt nod and little else as he makes his way to his patient, nurse Jean in tow. “Mr. Smith.”

“Doctor, nurse.”

Jean takes up Matt’s earlier position, standing right next to Alex’s head. Her considerable frame blocks Matt’s sight. “Ms. Kingston? I need you to wake up for a minute.”

Alex mumbles something unintelligible.

“Bit more than that, dear,” Jean encourages gently. “There you go. You’re in the hospital, do you remember?”

Anxious to keep an eye on his co-star, Matt moves to the foot-end of the bed, breath catching at the insecurity on Alex’s face. “Hurts,” she whimpers quietly.

“Yes. I’m afraid so. But the Doctor is here to help you, all right?”

“All right.” And after a pause – just when he thinks she might have retained the information, “My daughter?”

“Safe,” Matt answers quickly, once again feeling a little Groundhog Day-ish. “Salome’s safe. She’ll be here soon.”

She groans with the effort of lifting up her head to look at him, surprise evidence in her voice. “Matt? What are you doing here?”

“Figured you could use the company, Kingston.”

She doesn’t return his smile, dropping her head back on the pillow and mumbling something he can’t make out.

“Actually Mr. Smith, would you mind stepping outside for a minute?”

Yes. Yes, he really rather would. But he knows as well as that stupid Doctor does, that he has no right to be there. Fortunately, Alex thinks differently. “He can stay, don’t mind.” And just in case the Doctor gets any funny ideas, Matt straightens up a little and crosses his arms. He’s not going anywhere unless Alex tells him to.

The physician nods in acknowledgement. “Very well.”

From his vantage point at the foot of Alex’s bed, Matt watches on intently as Doctor Kaplan and the nurse help Alex sit up a little and smoothly check Alex’s vitals and have her do some tests.

The Doctor takes a small light and flashes it in her right eye, then repeats it with her left. He cringes with Alex as Jean has to slightly push on the swelling around the injured eye to get it to open a little further.

Alex sighs with relief when they move on to the next test. He really tries not to look too much as the nurse pulls down the covers and undoes Alex’s gown a little to allow the Doctor to press his stethoscope against her chest, but his eyes are riveted on the strip of gauze running along her right collarbone. It’s at least eight inches long and it makes him wonder what kind of injury is below it. How many other injures are there hidden beneath that gown?

“Heart rate’s a little fast,” the Doctor mutters, “how is your chest feeling?”

“Constricted, but who needs to breathe?” Matt’s stomach does a little summersault at her quip. Even though her voice is still warped by the injuries to her mouth and cheek, she hasn’t sounded quite like herself until just now.

“Deep breath?”

Without much enthusiasm, Alex does as requested – or tries to. From where he stands, Matt can hear her breath stutter, his own chest tight in sympathy.

The Doctor doesn’t appear to think much of it however and nods. “Three cracked ribs; breathing is not going to be fun for a while.”

“Can’t you give her something for the pain?” He’s cracked ribs in his football days. Sustained a concussion once too – courtesy of a goal post – though not as severe as Alex’s appears to be. His hurried request only wins him an annoyed glare from the physician.

“Not until her concussion clears up a bit. We won’t be able to monitor her accurately if there are drugs in her system.” Jean explains calmly.

“Right now, I don’t care much,” Alex pipes in, words mumbled.

“Touch your fingers together like this.” After carefully lifting her injured arm on top of the covers Doctor Kaplan demonstrates touching each of his fingers to his thumb, index finger first and pinkie last and then back again. He is all business, pointedly ignoring what they’ve been talking about.

Alex attempts to follow his instructions with her left hand, going slightly cross-eyed with the effort. It’s rather adorable, were it not so worrying. She misses her thumb on the first try and again on the second. A noise of frustration leaves her throat and Matt can see panic rising in her eyes.

Apparently the nurse can too and she covers Alex’s hand with her own, the dark and weathered skin of her hand a sharp contrast to Alex’s. “Takes a few breaths, dear, don’t rush.”

When the building tension has dissipated, Jean withdraws and Alex tries again. She moves her fingers with deliberate slowness and it pays off. Matt exhales as she touches first her index finger to her thumb and then her middle and ring fingers as well. She slips up with her pinkie, but succeeds on the second try.

“Well done. What about your legs? Any tingling sensations or cramps? No? “

“Just tired.” On cue, her eyes fall shut.

“Ah, actually,” the Doctor nudges her uninjured shoulder and Alex opens her eyes, “we need you to stay awake for a little while.”

“But ‘m tired.”

“It’s just for a bit.”

Jean seamlessly takes over from the Doctor, fussing with the sling on Alex’s left arm and helping her drink a little.

Doctor Kaplan turns to Matt. “Keep her awake for at least half an hour. Sleeping briefly like she has might muddle her thoughts more. If she stays awake for longer periods it might help.”

“You said ‘concussions’.” Matt replies, quite surprised by his own astuteness. But then, the Doctor – or maybe the nurse, same difference – had said concussions. How could someone have more than one? Wouldn’t it just get worse?

With obvious reluctance, the physician nods. “Miss Kingston received two blows to the head – each bruising a different part of her brain.”

“So what does that mean?”

“We’ll keep her here until the bruising clears. With enough rest she’ll be fine, Mr. Smith, but she’ll need to take it slow for a while and she’ll have to be careful to avoid anymore bumps to the head. Another blow could potentially be fatal.”

The warning stays with him as he takes up his earlier position at her bedside, doing his best not to stare at the bruises on her neck – not to think about how close she’s come to dying. Struggling for something to talk about, he is rescued by the buzzing of his phone.

His eyes flit over the message. “It’s your mother.”

Reluctantly Alex turns her head to look at him, eyes half shut. “Hmmm?”

“They just entered the city. Hey, you heard the Doctor – stay awake.”

But she shuts her eyes anyway. “Don’t want to.”

“You have to, you can sleep later. C’mon Alex, your family will be here in twenty minutes or so, you have to stay awake until then.”

His impassioned plea apparently gets to her, for she forces her eyes to open, groaning and shifting restlessly even as her voice takes on a particular heartbreaking whine. “Everything hurts Matt, I just want to sleep.”

“I know and I’m sorry.” He smoothes his thumb across the lines on her forehead, immeasurably relieved when she doesn’t flinch under his touch. “Just talk to me, okay? About anything. Even,” he swallows theatrically, “even _poetry_.”

“Why don’t you talk to me?” She offers instead, but he’s no fool.

“Are you kidding me? That’s sure to put you asleep. C’mon Kingston, bewitch me with your mouth.”

Never one to miss a double entendre, even when hurt, Alex arches an eyebrow and smirks through the pain it causes her. “I don’t think I’m quite up to _that_ , Darling.”

Matt feels his cheeks burn. “Well,” he splutters, “I’m certainly awake now.”

“Perhaps you should return the favour hmm?”

His mind short-circuits at that, because she isn’t _really_ suggesting... is she? No, no of course not. She’s Alex, she’s just incapable of speaking without innuendo and he is _not_ picturing, well, anything.

Yeah. He’s not picturing anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your continued support and please take the time to keep them comments coming :-)
> 
> Also, I'm in need for a new bad guy for a bit further along in the story. Anyone have any suggestions? I'm leaning towards Florian, but idk, it feels a bit weird. What do you guys think?


	15. Chapter 15

 

After keeping Alex awake for a good fifteen minutes, Matt feels horrible. In fact, he feels like a proper bully. She begged him to let her sleep, to please just for a little while allow her to escape the pains and aches that have settled into her body. The Doctor wouldn’t find out. _Please Matt, just a few minutes – one, just one minute. Just let me close my eyes._

The desperation in her voice then will haunt him and he feels like a right ass for denying her. She needs to get better though. He needs her to get better and if this is what it takes then he’ll resist her pleading eyes.

It’s damn near the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Finally he gets her talking and she gives up her quest for sleep, talking proudly of her daughter’s school achievements and how Salome will be spending the whole summer vacation with her.

It makes him feel a little better, but Alex occasionally loses her train of thought midsentence, or tells the same anecdote two or even three times. If it wasn’t worrying him so, it’d be heart-wrenchingly adorable.

Oh hell, it’s goddamn cute even now and he doesn’t quite know what to do with all these _feelings_ inside his chest.

The door opens before he can say something stupid and nurse Jean comes in. “Miss Kingston, your family—“

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, interrupted by a loud “Mom!” and a four foot whirlwind blowing into the room, followed at a more sedate pace by Alex’s parents. Salome races up to the bed, but upon seeing her mother, flinches back and hides behind her grandmother.

Helpless, he watches Alex tear up.

Salome clings to her grandmother’s jeans, her face pressed against the woman’s waist and her small fingers curling into her blouse.

The only audible sound in the room is Alex’s IV drip. He can see her struggle to keep a hold on her emotions. His first instinct is to break the ice somehow and he can’t understand why Alex’s parents aren’t rushing towards their daughter until he sees the way Mrs. Kingston gently nudges at Salome’s shoulder.

Finally Alex releases a shaky breath. “Oh am I happy to see you, Süssling.” But Salome only shuffles further behind her grandmother. Alex closes her eyes for a brief moment. “I know it looks scary, sweetheart, but they’re just bruises. Like when you fell off your bike, remember?” There’s only a slight wobble in her voice as she softly tries to coax her daughter out of hiding, her words still warped by the bruising around her mouth.

It appears to work; Salome slowly peers out from her hiding place, her brown eyes wide and fearful. “Mommy?”

“Right here, my sweet.”

Magic words, clearly, because the teenager all but launches herself at her mother. She is on the bed in seconds, her face buried in her mother’s hair. She sobs quietly into Alex’s neck while Alex whispers soft assurances and rakes her bandaged fingers through her daughter’s brown curls.

Matt had seen Alex relax when she realized her ordeal was over, seen her sink into the hospital bed with a sense of relief when he’d assured her over and over again that her daughter was safe, but here and now with Salome clinging to her, she closes her eyes and breathes deeply and he can see – no, he can _feel_ – the calm settle into her.

Yes, he thinks, everything is going to be fine.

Salome settles down eventually until her sobs fade into sniffles. “Do you want me to kiss you better?” She asks quietly when she feels brave enough to release her tight grip on Alex.

“Oh Sweetie, I would like nothing more.”

He can see how she’s barely holding herself together, tears gathering on her lashes but never falling as Salome very, very carefully presses a kiss to the darkest bruise. “There,” she states proudly.

“I feel better already,” Alex chokes out.

When he feels Salome has been reassured and when he catches Alex wince under her daughter’s weight, Matt steps up to the pair and addresses Salome cheerfully. “What do you say we go and raid the gift shop, hmmm Poppet? Let’s leave the adults to their boring adult talk.”

“Do I have to?”

“No,” Alex speaks quickly, voice thick, “but I think Matt might need a little supervision, darling. You know how silly he is.”

Salome giggles at that and he gasps in mock-insult. “Well, I never! I was going to be perfectly sensible and buy you only pink things!”

“But Matty, mom doesn’t _like_ pink.” With an exasperated sigh worthy of a drama queen, she slides off her mother. “I’d better come with you.”

He winks at Alex and ruffles Salome’s curls, gently steering her towards the door. “Pffff, I don’t need a babysitter.”

Salome shakes her head and looks up at him seriously. “Yes, Matty, yes you do.”

Considering it’s the middle of the night, he’s surprised the gift shop is actually open. But it is and so in they go. Salome makes a study of all the different gifts they could give Alex, very seriously weighing the pros and cons of each one. It aches a little to see so much of Alex in her, right down to the utter seriousness she displays towards what was supposed to be a light-hearted distraction. Like her mother, she is entirely absorbed in the effort of making someone feel better.

Matt suggests buying a toy car, just to rile her and make her smile, but is mostly content to watch. Inside he’s screaming to hurry things along and get back to Alex, but he knows she needs time with her parents and he has no business intruding.

After nearly half an hour, Salome has decided on a dolphin balloon, a bag of jelly beans and a small teddy bear with a bow-tie carrying a ‘get well soon’ sign. Matt has chosen a small flower-arrangement to brighten up her room a little, even though the flowers are starting to wilt. He supposes it’s been a long day for them too.

“Mom will be okay, won’t she Matt?”

The quiet question makes him stop dead in his tracks. Salome is looking at him with those impossible big eyes of hers, begging him silently to make her world right again. “Of course. Your mom is a superhero. She’ll be just fine.”

“But someone hurt her. Why would someone do that?”

He stalls for time by lowering himself to look into her eyes, but still can’t come up with an answer that will make sense. The truth it is then. “I don’t know Poppet, but your mom is safe now.”

Salome nods bravely, but for the rest of the way holds on tightly to his hand.

When they turn into the wing that houses Alex, Matt is surprise to find her father sitting out in the hall. “Girl stuff,” Tony huffs by way of explanation.

Taking the cue, Matt sinks down in one of the uncomfortable chairs next to him, while Salome quickly slips into the room only just holding on to her presents as she wriggles the door open.

“Lexie hates jelly beans.”

Matt grins. “I know.”

There is a weighted look in the older man’s kind blue eyes. Looking younger than his actual age, Matt forgets that Alex’s father is well into his seventies. There are unmistakable family traits – the kind eyes and rounded cheeks, but mostly the similarities are in the way Alex’s parents carry themselves. They have the same open and warm bearings. Right now however, Mr. Kingston looks his age, weary and sad. “Thank you, for keeping an eye on her.”

“No problem. I wish...”

“Yeah. The drive up was good.”

“Good.”

“The Doctor says she’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.”

“She doesn’t look fine.”

“No.” Matt runs his fingers through is hair, biting back a sigh. Finally able to ask the question that’s been on his mind most of the day. “What are her injuries?”

The older man shakes his head once before listing Alex’s injuries monotonously. As he speaks, anger creeps into his voice. “Fractured eye socket. A cut along her collar bone, dislocated shoulder, torn ligaments and a pinched nerve in that shoulder. Broken nails, three torn tendons in her fingers, a badly sprained ankle, there’s some tearing of the muscles in her back and three cracked ribs. And of course a colourful assortment of bruises and two concussions. I didn’t even know you could have two concussions – thought it’d just get worse.”

“So did I,” Matt agrees for lack of something better to say. God, the bastard had her for less than thirty-six hours and he is simultaneously appalled that so much damage had been done to her in that time and immeasurably relieved that it hadn’t taken even longer to find her.

“She’s my little girl,” Tony hisses, then all the anger suddenly drains out of him. He physically slumps into his seat and rubs at his forehead. “Well, she never really was, I suppose. Even as a child she was incredibly self-sufficient. Knew exactly what she wanted and she didn’t need anybody’s help getting there. I always thought she was just that confident. Shows you what I know.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Matt tries his hardest not to pounce on ever sliver of insight Alex’s dad can provide him and fails miserably. “What do you mean?”

“I think she was just trying to please us, or at least make sure we wouldn’t worry about her. Maybe we should have told her more often that she didn’t need to be perfect. She always had excellent grades, rarely got into trouble. We never had to ask her to do her chores or help out with her younger sisters.”

In a way, Tony reminds him of his own father. At the airport, Alex’s dad had been a silent support to his wife and granddaughter, not once letting on his own worries. Matt’s dad is like that too; quiet and strong and not one to easily express affection. But like Tony there’s no mistaking the love he has for his children. It feels a little awkward – out of his dept – to sit here and listen to the man’s insecurities. Simultaneously he’s incredibly chuffed that Alex’s dad is talking to _him,_ even if proximity is in all likelihood the deciding factor.

“She didn’t deserve this.” Matt is still trying to work out a response because no one does, least of all Alex, when Tony wrings his hand together and sighs wearily. “Florian is flying in.”

He stares at the older man is shock.

Clearly having gone through the same thought process, Tony is quick to reassure even though he doesn’t sound entirely convinced himself. “The police don’t think he’s involved.”

“Why is he coming?”

“He says he just wants to be here for Salome and Alex. I don’t like it – he hurt my little girl – but Florian is a good father. A decent man and he was married to my daughter for quite a while.” Mouth twisting in distaste, he corrects himself, “still is, technically.”

It feels as if a ball of slithering snakes has taken up residence in his stomach. It’s only concern, Matt tells himself. What if the police are wrong? What if Alex doesn’t want to see her almost-ex-husband?

What if she does?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and tips, they've been very helpful and encouraging as always. Quite honestly I can't get enough of them :) I hope you've enjoyed this chapter as well. With both Salome and Alex's dad it was a bit of a challenge to write.
> 
> Fair warning: I may not be able to update on time next week, but I'll certainly try!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for skipping last week, stuff happened as it tends to do. 
> 
> Anyways, we now return to your regular scheduled programming...

Matt spends the night in the hospital and the entire Sunday. Alex does seem to improve, holding up conversations with her parents and daughter and the endless stream of friends who come by to visit her. She still sleeps a lot, but is no longer disorientated when she wakes.

The police interview her and Matt as well. That’s how he learned Alex’s kidnapper was called Daniel Chance and the man has two children. His wife passed away six months earlier due to a brain aneurism. Chance himself was shot in the head by a policeman when he threatened Alex’s life.

They don’t tell him specifics, quoting regulations and investigation in progress, but his mind readily provides the scenario of Chance’s arm wrapped around Alex’s neck, knife pressed against her collar bone as he tries to weasel is his way past the police.

And he is happy. _Happy_ that they killed him.

It sickens him that he feels no remorse or regret, but he is so relieved that the bastard can never hurt Alex again.

Between visitors he tries to talk to Alex about it, but other than expressing regret for Daniel Chance’s children, she refuses to talk about it, going pale and quiet whenever he brings up the subject.

Florian seems quite happy to distract her with nonsense. Ever since he arrived midday, Matt has been avoiding him. It’s difficult, because as much as he loathes talking to the man or listening to him talk to Alex, he makes himself stay close to the two of them, hovering outside Alex’s room when they need time with their daughter.

Of course the press found out Alex had been brought to the hospital far too quickly for anyone’s liking and a couple of so-called journalists with nothing better to do have been meticulously blogging about her visitors. The small pile of flowers and small gifts left by nearby fans however is heart-warming.

Matt leaves the hospital on Monday morning to attend a meeting at the studio. Steven and the producers have shuffled the shooting schedule. They can’t afford to postpone for more than a day, but they’ve arranged for all of Alex’s scenes to be shot as late as possible.

When he finally slips back into her room to tell Alex the good news, he finds her in Florian’s embrace and his heart might just shatter a little at the contented smile on her lips. Her eyes are shut and Matt slips back out before either of them notice him.

Late Monday night when it’s just the two of them once more, he dares to bring up the subject. Admittedly in a bit of an awkward manner. Well, rude, is probably a better word. “Where’s Florian?”

Alex looks at him curiously. “Heathrow. His flight takes off in thirty minutes.”

“Sorry.”

She laughs and shakes her head and oh god it’s good to see her curls in all their glory, bouncing around with the movement of her head. “Don’t be, he was getting on my nerves. Did you bring my laptop?”

“Uh, yeah. Here.” He fishes the computer out of his backpack and dutifully hands it over. His mind half-occupied by mulling over her words and tone when speaking of Florian. He thought she’d been happy to see him, that maybe almost dying had made her revaluate her feelings and he absolutely hated not being able to read her well enough to judge her words. “I thought he’d stay longer.”

The start-up gong of her laptop almost drowns out his words. She’s busy logging in as she answers. “Yeah, I don’t think that would’ve gone over well with his girlfriend.”

“I didn’t know he was seeing someone.”

Alex quirks an eyebrow at that. “How would you, darling? Here, can you check my e-mail? I don’t think my head is quite ready for digital-anything.”

“Yeah, sure. What am I looking for?”

“Anything that isn’t a get-better-soon wish.”

It feels oddly intimate to scroll through her messages, but they are mostly get-well wishes as she predicted. They’re mostly from colleagues oversees. His eyes trip over some of the names. “James Bond send you an e-mail. And George Clooney. Really, Alex!”

“Jealous, darling?”

He runs a hand through his hair, trying hard not to squeal like a bloody fan girl. Daniel Craig and George Clooney. Really. “Yeah. Not sure of whom though.”

Alex giggles and he can _see_ her formulate a quip, so he cuts her off quickly. “Your agent e-mailed a new summer schedule and there’s an e-mail from Salome’s school I think.”

She sobers instantly. “What does it say?”

“They’re denying the request for additional days off. Salome has to be back at school next week.”

Disappointment flashes across her features and settles quickly into resignation. “Oh well, it was worth a try.”

“Sorry.”

Alex waves her hand as if it’s no big deal. “I’m not getting out of here until Thursday, it’s a bit unfair that she has to spend her holiday with a disabled mother.”

“I don’t think she mind much as long as she gets to spend it with you. Besides, she’s leading the sock-sliding competition. She’ll be fine.”

“Bless the nurses for not throwing the lot of you out.”

“It’s exercise,” Matt defends quickly, “it’s healthy!” Not to mention a lot of fun. His little competition with Salome had quickly come to involve all the children that frequented the wing to visit sick parents or siblings. It was so easy to get caught up on the children’s  breathless laughter and enthusiasm. And it’s certainly worth Alex’s half-hearted scolding.

 “It’s a bloody health hazard, is what it is. How have you not bowled someone over by now?”

Not telling her about his – a-hem – _run in_ with Doctor Kaplan seems the smart thing to do. “C’mon Kingston, what happened to your inner child?”

“Between you and my daughter, I think she’s had a nervous break-down.”

“Oi!”

“Oh don’t pout, darling. Someone has to be the adult.”

Her father’s words come back to haunt him and without thinking he blurts out, “but does it always have to be you?”

Alex blinks at him like a deer caught in the headlights. “What?”

He keeps his eyes on the laptop screen, still opened to her inbox while he tries to figure out a way to change the subject, when he catches sight of another e-mail.  “Final draft,” he mutters mostly to himself. Really, Steven is giving her all the spoilers? _Again_. But then he notices that the sender is in fact not Steven, or anyone at all from Who.

“Matt.”

“It’s from your lawyer, I think. What is this?”

Her response is a rather ineffectual shrug, considering she only has use of one arm. Her eyes flick away from his. “Divorce papers. We came to an agreement last week.” She sounds entirely too casual.

“Geez Alex, I...”

“You what? We’ve been separated for nearly four years, Matt. It’s not a big shock.”

“I suppose not, but still.” It speaks to her talent and experience, he thinks, that between the two of them, he is the one visibly shocked and unsettled. It makes sense now, why she’d been so preoccupied off set last week.

Usually Alex made time to catch up with her Who-colleagues after shooting and she certainly wasn’t one of those people who lived their lives with their nose pressed into their smart phone. But last week she’d been. How had he not noticed then? Well, he’d noticed. But he’d mainly noticed how much time she was not spending with him. God, that bastard ex-husband of hers really couldn’t have picked a crappier time.

His eyes snap to hers as soon as the thought flits though his mind. “Wait. Why last week?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you come to an agreement last week?”

“Why does it matter?”

She shakes her head and for a moment he loses himself in the impossibility of her curls. “Because... Because it just does. Why last week, Alex?”

“He wants to propose to his girlfriend,” she answers quietly. Suddenly the masked hurt in her eyes isn’t masked at all. It shines brightly amongst the green and blue of her irises as her words rush out of her. “We came to an agreement because he decided that marrying her is more important than getting full custody of Salome and honestly, I don’t know whether to be relieved that it’s finally over, or upset that he’s basically giving up on Salome for her.”

That’s too much of a coincidence, right? If Florian really wanted full custody, he’d keep at it. Matt would have. Unless...

Unless Florian thought he would get full custody by default. Say, because Alex disappeared. Or died.

Being a decent actor himself, Matt reigns in the vein-popping fury that threatens to overtake him and gives his co-star a sad smile instead. “I think you’re allowed to feel both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum dum dum...


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured everyone will be in a tizzy tomorrow because of the Final (I already am!) so I'm just getting this update out of the way. Thank you all so much for your continued and lovely reviews, I'm humbled

 

On Tuesday filming starts up again. There’s a solemn atmosphere on set as they navigate the River-less scenes and Matt in particular is a nervous ball of jittery limbs and rushed sentences because he just wants to get back to the hospital.

He spends his breaks on the phone with officer Janney who is heading up the investigation into Alex’s kidnapping from London. She is a little more sympathetic to his concerns regarding Florian than her Cardiff counterpart. There is of course no proof to substantiate Matt’s suspicions and he has to admit he could just be paranoid about it all.

He can’t let it go however and resolves to keep a close eye on the man. It might prove a little difficult, what with the Atlantic between them, but if Florian is in any way involved, Matt will not let him get away with it.

It doesn’t help that what little sleep he gets is accompanied by horrid nightmares. Nightmares in which Alex is never found. Or killed. Or taken again. And if it affects him like that, then what must her dreams be like?

She remains tight lipped about her experience. At least to him. From her mother he knows a trauma counsellor has been checking in on Alex, but he just wishes she’d talk to _him_. More than anything he wants to be that person she talks to, confides in.

So naturally, when Alex’s parents have to return home to care for their youngest daughter and Alex is about to be released from the hospital, Matt arranges a meeting with his co-stars and Who’s producing team to work out a support system.

Being allowed to go home – home being a relative term he supposes – does not mean Alex is better. Sure her bruises are fading and physical therapy is helping her to move around, but she can’t really use her left arm or put weight on her injured foot.

Surprisingly, Alex doesn’t object to their round-the-clock care system. That probably has more to do with the still healing concussions than anything else. Unable to stay awake for longer than two to three hours at a stretch, Alex needs all the help she can get to keep Salome occupied and laughing. The last thing any of them want is for the young girl to feel burdened by her mother’s injuries.

They manage pretty well; taking turns delivering and preparing food, cleaning and playing all sorts of games with Salome. Of course the latter in particular is incredibly dull and not fun at all. No Sir-ee.

Alex has a visitor on Saturday, having blown off all but one on account of it being Salome’s last day before flying back to the States. Matt makes himself invisible, fetching tea and biscuits and anything else they need. His mum would be proud at him being such a good host. It’s not something he usually does. With his friends he has a standing agreement that they help themselves to whatever they want in his kitchen whenever they want it, because he tends to forget to ask.

Doing this for Alex does not bother him at all and he loves listening to her exchange stories with her childhood friend. Claudia is a six-foot tall, slender redhead with an easy smile and a rolling laugh. She waxes lyrical about Doctor Who, pinching Matt’s cheeks and swatting his bum much to Alex’s amusement.

The women talk of their children and jobs. He learns that Claudia attended RADA with Alex, but ended up as a PR-representative for an international casting agency. He learns a whole lot of things about both women and it only drives home that there is so much to Alex Kingston that he doesn’t know.

She catches him staring at her a couple of times, raising a questioning eyebrow. Matt just shakes his head, stupidly smiling because the woman is perfect. With every little thing he learns about her, he falls deeper. Paying such close attention also mean that he doesn’t miss how Alex tenses whenever Claudia touches on the subject of Alex’s kidnapping.

Claudia clearly notices too; each time pressing the subject matter a little further, but backing off before her friend shuts down or becomes upset. She gets a lot further than Matt has so far. There’s a small part of him that might be just a tiny smidge jealous, but mostly he’s pleased that Claudia might be someone Alex can tell her story to. And as much as he’d like to be a fly on the wall for the remainder of Claudia’s visit, he politely excuses himself and leaves the two women alone.

Arthur is on dinner-duty tonight and Karen will help their co-star get ready for bed. It’s Salome’s last day, so Matt regretfully has no reason to return to Alex’s. He spends his evening wondering how Alex is truly doing beneath the smiles and physical injuries.

It’s the middle of the night when he is awoken by a crying teenage girl. “Matty! Matty!”

Bleary eyed and disorientated, it takes a long moment before his brain kicks into gear. “Salome?”

Thick tears roll down the little girl’s cheeks as she tugs desperately at his arm. “Matty, you have to come. Please, Matty, it’s mum. Something’s wrong with her. Help me, Matty!”

Heart in his throat, he all but jumps out of his bed, nearly tripping over the covers and running into the wall in his haste to help Alex _now_. It’s not until they’re out in the hallway that he has the presence of mind to try and calm down Salome. “It’ll be okay Sweetheart, tell me what happened?”

“She’s crying in her sleep, but I can’t wake her up. You have to help!”

“I will. Your mum will be fine, I promise. Doctor’s word, right Poppet?”

Sniffling, Salome nods bravely, his hand gripped tightly in hers. They venture into Alex’s temporary apartment, heading straight towards the bedroom. With adrenaline rushing through his veins Matt is ready for anything. Honestly, right now he could take down a bloody bear if it threatened to hurt either of the Kingston girls.

There is no bear in the bedroom of course. There is only Alex, face wet with tears and whimpering against the assault of an unseen monster.

Salome stays behind in the opening of the door, her big eyes never leaving her mother’s form. Matt approaches the bed cautiously. If there ever was a privacy boundary between him and his co-star, he is certainly crossing it now.

“Alex?”

She gives a cry when he settles at her side onto the mattress, limbs and head restlessly moving in random directions.

Not knowing what to do, Matt starts talking to her, telling her that she’s save. Home. And it’s okay if she’s frightened and he knows she’s hurting, but it will be better if she just wakes up and opens her eyes.

She doesn’t. Not even when he gently runs his hand up and down her arm. The Doctor had warned them for this – between the concussions and the sleep- and pain medication, waking up would cost her more effort than it would usually.

The nightmare she’s trapped in doesn’t let up however and her whimpers of fear are turning into panicked hick-ups. This can’t be good.

He shakes at her shoulder, calling her name loudly and when that has no effects and he is becoming desperate, he tries to still her by pressing down on her shoulder. Instantly Alex’s eyes fly open.

Startled, Matt jumps away from her and she sits bolt upright, chest heaving with panicked breaths. “What?! I... who...?”

Before he can formulate a response, Salome flings herself into her mother’s arms with a cry. It is quite amazing how Alex instantly wraps her arms around her daughter and hums soothingly, even when her own eyes are still wide and clouded with panic. “You were crying,” Salome hiccups into her mother’s neck between halted sobs, “I heard you and I -- I tried to wake you up, but you, you wouldn’t wake up, mommy! You just kept crying and sleeping and... and... and you wouldn’t wake up, mom.”

“It’s all right Süssling, I’m awake now. It was just a dream. I’m fine now.” Her words and the circles she rubs across Salome’s back calm the young girl quickly enough but do little to reassure Matt.

Comforting him isn’t Alex’s job and he supposes that it isn’t his to comfort Alex. He wants to however. He cares for her, as a friend yes, but it’s so much more than that. For how much longer can he keep these fuzzy, all-encompassing feelings to himself? Will there ever be a right time to tell her? Does it even matter? Chances are she’ll be flattered but not at all interested in him like that.

Sure they get on like a house on fire and he adores her family as well, but being good friends doesn’t necessarily translate into a romantic relationship and right now he doesn’t want to jeopardize the former to chance the latter.

And right now, despite her assurances to the contrary, Alex isn’t fine.

When Salome has stopped crying, Alex gently nudges her off the bed. “Get yourself a glass of milk and a biscuit Süssling, and then you can come and sleep with me, how does that sound?”

The teenager gives a happy cry and darts around Matt towards the kitchen. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Alex takes a deep breath and releases it slowly before turning her brilliant green gaze on Matt. “Thank you,” she whispers earnestly, “for being there for her.”

“Not a problem, Kingston. How are you doing?”

She waves his concern away. “It was just a dream, Darling.”

Not fooled by her brave act, Matt approaches until he is all but sitting on her bed. “Nightmare.”

“Same difference.”

“Not really. Alex--”

“Don’t.” Her voice is sharp and strong enough that he almost listens. Almost.

“You’re not fine.”

“I am. I will be.”

The insistence that she can deal with this on her own doesn’t really surprise him. He doesn’t know her as well as he’d like to, but he knows her well enough. It’s typical really, probably a mom-thing. Or a divorcee-thing. Or both. Anyway, it’s crap and he is too impatient to wait for her to come out of her shell any longer. “But you’re not now. How can you be? That bastard tried to kill you, almost succeeded too. I’m not fine with that and neither are you.”

“I didn’t say that. Matt—“

“You need to talk to someone,” he matches her stubbornness with his, catching her eyes through the curtain of her curls. “I need you to talk to me.”

“I refuse to put this on your shoulders,” Alex snaps.

They stare at each other in shock until he mumbles a soft “what?”

She sighs deeply and looks away. “You’ve been very sweet, darling. And I appreciate what you’ve done – are doing – for Salome and me, but this is not something you can fix. It’s not something you have to fix.”

What is she saying?

“I’m not your responsibility, Matt.” Her eyes meet his again and there is such strength in her gaze, he falls head over heels all over again, even though he wants to throttle her for being so damn blind. “I am not your burden.”

He wants to tell her how incredibly stupid she’s being, how much he wants to do exactly what she’s forbidding him – the words topple over themselves in his mouth, fighting to be the first to be spoke aloud. In the end he settles for the most basic of truths. “You will never be a burden to me, Kingston.” She flushes a little at that, so naturally Matt decides to hide the big ball of feelings inside his chest behind a smirk and a quip. “And for the record, me and my bony shoulders are perfectly capable of helping damsels in distress.”

There is relief in the shimmering green of Alex’s eyes. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. And then she smiles softly at him and his insides go gooey all over again. “I don’t doubt it, darling.”

Trouble. He’s in it. So very deep.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her body is healing, but the mental scars are slowly making themselves known

“It’s just something easy to start off with,” Steven assures his guest star on her first day back on set.

It’s been a week since Alex was discharged from the hospital. She’ll be on set just for three hours and another three on Friday. She feels awful for holding up the schedule like this, but her shoulder is still pretty much immobile, her back aches constantly and the make-up girls will have quite the challenge to mask the bruises on her face.

She’s quite done with the whole thing and flushes a deep red when the crew welcomes her with applause and cat calls.

“I just hope I’ll remember my lines.” Just driving over – okay, being driven over – has made her feel tired and sweaty. It’s nowhere near as bad as when Matt drove her and Salome to the airport on Sunday, but she still spend most of the drive with her eyes closed.

Her brain does not approve of much movement yet or, as it turns out, bright lights. She blinks against the tower of industrial lights meant to simulate day-light and fumbles for her sunglasses with her good arm.

Her boss scrutinizes her silently and she really hates being able to feel everyone’s concern crackling through the air. Lovely Matt is waiting on her hand and foot and hovers behind her like a protective father. It’s a bit awkward honestly.

“Are the lights giving you trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she assures the Scot quickly.

From the corner of her eyes she catches Matt shaking his head. “The Doctor told her to stay out of broad daylight for a while.” Traitor.

“I’ll be fine, really.” But both men pointedly ignore her. Alex rolls her eyes. “Steven, really, I—“

“Arthur disappears at daylight, that doesn’t necessarily means he ends up in daylight too. Actually, the dark would give the whole things a more sinister view, wouldn’t it? Could’ve thought of that sooner, really. Alex, make-up. I need to talk to Dave.” Steven grins excitedly, “he’s going to kill me. Welcome back, love!”

Glaring, Alex turns to Matt, ready to reprimand him for overruling her. She can take care of herself _thank you very much_. As she does however, she finds him staring at her with a softness in his eyes that makes all her complaints die in her throat.

Karen bounds up to them, chattering a mile a minute about something Alex looses track off after half a sentence. She just prays she’ll remember her lines when the time comes.

She comes out of the make-up trailer an hour later feeling a lot less put together than she looks. Unfortunately, looking like herself doesn’t translate into feeling like herself and River, under these circumstances, is not an easy character to play. With her arm temporarily out of the sling while they shoot the scene, she feels at least like a whole person. That’s something.

The set is mercifully dark as she takes her marker. She’d feel worse about the extra work for the lighting department if the darkness didn’t soothe the throbbing behind her eyelids. Concussions suck – pardon the French.

It takes her five tries to get her lines right and then of course Arthur fumbles his. On the seventh take one of the henchmen misses his marker and blocks her from the camera. She might have been a little more upset if she hadn’t missed her cue two seconds later, distracted by an odd tingling that shivers from her injured shoulder down to her wrist. Eventually, on take eleven, everything slots into place and River’s first scene for the Ponds’ farewell is a fact.

Rather than share in the crew’s emotional acknowledgement of the fact, Alex sinks into a nearby chair, too preoccupied by the small matter of not fainting. It’s ridiculous, she’s only been on set for what? Forty-five minutes, an hour at most, and her head is killing her. She’s exhausted and close to tears for no reason at all.

Angrily she sets her mouth. She’s a bloody professional, she can make it through three hours of easy shots. River deserves no less. Hell, River would probably laugh her way through this with two concussions, three cracked ribs and four injured limbs.

But Alex is no River. Five minutes later she stands up a little too briskly and suddenly the lead weight in her head takes flight and the world around her plunges into pitch-black darkness.

The next thing she knows is a painfully bright light flashing into her eyes. She shuts her eyes tightly and tries to scrabble away from the piercing beam, only to find that she cannot. Something is blocking her every attempt to move and oh god he’s back. He’s back, he’s back, he’s _back_.

This cannot be happening. She will not die here! Desperately she swings her arm at Joe and pain instantly flares out from her ribs and shoulder. No time for that now, he’s going to kill her, she needs to get away. _Now_.

He’s talking to her, his voice thick and muddled. She doesn’t want to hear him, doesn’t want to feel him. Doesn’t ever want to be anywhere near him again. She swings again, but this time her arm is trapped too, held tightly along her side by her attacker. He’ll get her every time, she realizes and all the fight leaves her body. “Let me go, please. Please just let me go.”

And he does.

Stunned, Alex opens her eyes to find someone in uniform looking at her in concern. The man’s mouth is moving, but his words don’t reach her – as if they slam into an invisible wall right in front of her or maybe he just can’t reach over the thundering of her heart.

She keeps her eyes firmly on the man’s face, concentrating hard to make out his words and oh it hurts her head and there is blood _everywhere_. Except there isn’t. It isn’t cold either. Why did she think it was?

Unsure what to expect, she dares to look beyond the man in front of her and her eyes come to rest on familiar faces. There hadn’t been familiar faces when Joe had put a knife to her throat. It hadn’t been a familiar person whose hands came away covered in blood after checking her injuries.

Reality hits her like a bucket of cold water. Her colleagues and her _boss_ are staring at her with wide eyes and open mouths and as soon as she realises this, a new kind of panic creeps up on her.

She can feel the tips of her ears flush and suddenly it’s incredibly hot. Did everyone really just see her lose it? Oh God.

Mortified, Alex scrambles to pull herself together. The medical staffer appears unfazed by her mortification and calmly continues his assessment. “You with us now, Ms. Kingston?”

“Yes. I... Yes.”

“Do you recall what happened?”

As much as she’d like to say no and pretend this little episode never happened, she’s learned not to lie when it comes to these things. It usually isn’t appreciated much. “I fainted.”

“What day is it today?”

“It’s... ah... Thursday.”

“Year and month?”

A little to her own surprise at least the date comes to her easily enough, but when she gives her answer, she can tell by the man’s look that she hasn’t excelled. He might not be entirely wrong. Have his fingers been wrapped around her wrist all this time? “I’m fine, really.”

In a tone that says loud and clear _I’ll be the judge of that_ , he delivers the fatal blow. “How is your head?”

Knowing exactly where this is going for her, Alex drops her eyes and lets out a heavy breath. “It’s been better. But I just need a little time, I’ll be good to go in ten or fifteen minutes really. I can shoot.”

“You could have died.”

She very nearly jumps out of her skin at Matt’s voice coming from behind her. “Christ, Matt!” He must have been behind her this whole time and that – that means, well, it means _shit_ , mainly. God, she hadn’t hit him, had she?

His hand is at her elbow almost instantly. She knows intellectually that he’s only trying to help, to anchor and soothe her, but she can’t stop herself from freezing under his touch. Her breath catches in her throat as the warmth of him behind her crawls along her skin until she can’t breathe through the thickness of it.

The EMT, bless him, notices. “Perhaps you can give Ms. Kingston some space, Mr. Smith.”

Matt has other ideas however. His fingers press into the skin of her arm, his breath suddenly there at the nape of her neck. “You scared the hell out of me, Kingston.”

The reply she might have – and she’s not sure she has one really, her skin is too hot and tight and her brain refuses to think about anything other than space and cool air – is stuck in her throat. His presence so close behind her and the concerned gazes of her friends and colleagues pin her down. A butterfly pinned to the corkboard and she can’t _breathe_.

This is not the time to have a panic-attack, she tells herself firmly.

Her eyes find those of the man with the stethoscope around his neck. He reads her expression flawlessly for which she’s immensely grateful. “All right,” he addresses the small crowd watching them, “we need to give her some privacy. Ms. Kingston is fine, she just needs a bit more space.”

Alex steadfastly keeps her gaze below knee level, unwilling to see her colleagues expression of worry and – worse – pity. Most of the group does as requested and their legs carry them out of her sight. Karen, wearing Amy’s sneakers, and Arthur in Rory’s loafers lag behind for a moment or two before slowly heading off, Steven in tow.

Already it’s becoming easier to breathe.

“You too, Mr. Smith.”

In response, Matt trails his fingers down her arm and brings his face close to hers until his words tangle in her curls. “Do you want me to go, Alex?”

She shuts her eyes and nods once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for continuing to read, comment and kudo this story. This is now the longest fanfic I've posted in roughly ten years. Scary thought, innit?


	19. Chapter 19

On Friday she fares better on set. After three hours on her feet however, she is exhausted. They haven’t managed to make up for yesterday’s lost time, but she’s learned her lesson well. This is not the time to push her body – no matter how bad she feels about the delay and she certainly doesn’t need another collapse. People are barely looking at her as it is; as if she might break under the weight of their gaze.

It’s probably not as far from the truth as she’d like.

Matt too has been avoiding her. She’s caught him looking at her a couple of times with an odd mixture of hurt and concern on his face. Every time she tries to make her way over to him to talk or apologize or something, he disappears on her.

She makes one last effort to talk to him during lunch. Her head is pounding and has been for a while now, brain expanding and contracting with every beat of her heart, every new influx of blood. It’s ridiculous. They’ve only done two scenes this morning. River and Rory in the car and River’s meeting with Grayle. Any other day those would’ve been warm-up scenes, but today they wiped her out.

Her legs are made of rubber as she stumbles through one of the dimly-lit corridors behind the Tardis set. Every time she loses her balance, the pain radiating from her ribs flares up. Matt had better not try and make another run for it, considering the effort she’s making to find him.

She hasn’t even changed out of her costume yet, has only taken off her shoes. Barefooted as she is, the black dress does little against the chill of what in the Mother country passes as a typical spring day, but the cold helps keep Alex alert.

The corridor stretches on forever, but she pushes on stubbornly. Monday they’ll start shooting the more emotional scenes and this thing between her and Matt has to be resolved then. First up will be the scene in the Tardis after Amy and Rory have gone. After that they’ll slowly build up to the more physical scenes and considering how out of breath she is right at this moment, that’s probably a smart thing.

She can’t quite get enough air into her lungs. The corseted dress actually helps against the pain caused by her cracked ribs, but doesn’t exactly make it easier to breathe. With only one arm for balance and the other back in the sling, Alex no longer trusts herself to make it to the exit doors and slumps against the wall instead.

She closes her eyes and runs through the breathing exercises her physical therapist has taught her, gasping for air and fighting against the beginnings of another panic attack because God it’s damp and dark and her chest is tight and her throat hurts and she _cannot_ _breathe_.

_Don’t be ridiculous,_ _Alex_.

This is the Doctor Who set. It’s not a basement and she’s not alone, she tells herself firmly. No one here is going to hurt her. She _knows_ this, can hear the familiar sounds of an active set.

 Joe is dead and she’s safe. Everything is fine. She is fine, just a little out of breath, no reason to be afraid.

Just breathe. Slow and controlled, in through the nose, out through the mouth. That’s it. Just breathe.

She is just one memory away from a panic attack – the adrenaline insistently burns through her veins and with each passing breath her control slips just that much further away. She can barely hear her own thoughts over the pounding in her head.

_Pull it together. Come on, you can do this_.

But of course she can’t. Here in the dark her demons are all too real.

Then suddenly there’s the promise of warmth next to her and Arthur’s voice strained with worry. “Shit. Alex? Alex, you okay?” She reaches out blindly because she’s not in a basement. She’s on set and _he_ isn’t here. A large hand wraps around her own anchoring her in the present.

She tenses instinctively when he comes closer and relaxes when he immediately freezes, not touching her anywhere other than his hand on her elbow.

“Sorry, shit. Of course you’re not okay. What do I do?” He ducks his head, catching her eyes with his. “Alex, what do I do?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but no sound comes out.

“Okay. Okay. Just... hang in there, I’m going to get some help.”

Vocal cords still not working, Alex grips his shirt with all her strength.

Arthur glances up and down the corridor, his head bobbing slightly. “Right, okay. Not leaving then.”

The smile she tries to offer in return falls flat. Her head threatens to explode when Arthur turns away and bellows on the top of his lungs for Matt.

There’s a metallic grind and then footsteps pounding towards them. “Get the nurse,” Arthur says tersely.

Alex finally manages to rasp out a “no”.

Matt’s face swims into view, his eyes worried and piercing. “You don’t look well, Alex.”

That’s probably a bit of an understatement, but she appreciates him trying to preserve her dignity. “Couldn’t breathe,” she explains. “Just need...”

“Right. Just need two strappy young fellows to lend you a hand, hmm Kingston?”

She laughs despite herself. The sound gets stuck in her throat a couple of times on the way out. “Always.”

Matt smiles brilliantly and ducks to her side to support her against him. On her other side, Arthur tentatively pulls her good arm across his shoulders. “Where to M’lady?”

Now that she’s not struggling to stay vertical and the boys take some of the weight off her ribs, Alex can finally take regular breaths again. The influx of oxygen chases away the adrenaline. Sighing with relief, she instructs them to the car park where a cab will pick her up soon.

“I’m not comfortable sending you home alone,” Matt admits quietly once she’s seated in the cab.

Truth to be told, Alex very much does not want to be in the cab on her own. It’s not something she can avoid forever, but she can feel the panic clawing its way back up her spine at the mere thought of the car’s door closing with her inside.

“I’m not due back on set for an hour and a half. I’ll go with you.”

Alex is halfway through setting up a token independence speech when Arthur slides down next to her. He grips her hand gently, his blue eyes holding only kindness and nothing else. No pity or worry of fear. She sinks into the cheap leather seats and squeezes his hand. “Thank you. And you too, Matt.”

“No prob Kingston. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He shuts the cab’s door with a face-splitting grin that hurts just to look at.

Something she cannot quite define flashes across his face, but it’s gone before she can put her finger on it. He’s getting entirely too good at hiding from her. Sometimes she misses the overexcited, terrified Matt she met all that time ago, who wore his every emotion on his sleeve. In the world they moved in it had been refreshing.

Alex has always been a little too paranoid. So now the way he avoids her eyes and carefully hides whatever he’s feeling or thinking makes her uneasy and self-conscious. She hadn’t meant for him to leave her alone permanently.

Right there and then, with the humiliation of being so weak in front of her colleagues, with memories far too close to the surface, she couldn’t take anyone close to her. Least of all someone who used to look up to her the way Matt had.

She thought he understood. Maybe she’d been wrong.

After a mercifully quick ride, Arthur helps her out of the car and insists on carrying her bag and shoes into her apartment. All the way there he’d been a steadying and silent presence at her side. She can’t begin to think of the words to thank him for just letting her be.

In the end she settles for a kiss on his cheek and a “Thanks, Dad.”

Very much like a dad, Arthur searches her face for any sign of trouble. “You’ll be okay?”

“Nicola is coming over for the weekend. I’m going to nap until then.”

“If you need anything...”

Alex chuckles. “I have your number, and Matt’s and Karen’s and Steven’s and Be—“

“Fine, fine. Point taken. See you Monday then?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Finally alone, Alex quickly sheds her clothes before the exhaustion overtakes her completely and ducks into bed. Within seconds she’s fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am like the worst Mattex-writer ever. 30.000 words and not even a kiss! At this rate it might take another 30.000 to get there. But they'll get there, promise. Just hang on.
> 
> And thank you all so much for reading, kudoing and commenting despite the lack of smut!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is a bit chaotic at the moment, so you'll have to excuse me for the quick 'post 'n run', but thank you all so much for your patience! I still feel like the worst Mattex-writer ever, but your comments do ease the guilt much :-) Hope this chapter will keep you happy for another week!

After Nicola leaves on Sunday, Alex is both a little relieved and a little daunted by the sudden emptiness around her. Her sister is a force of nature, rivalling Matt in energy and a pit bull about getting what she wants.

After all the pushing and prodding, Alex is frayed around the edges, exhausted from the desperate attempt to hold herself together under her sister’s scrutiny.

It’s only five in the afternoon, but she’d quite happily skip dinner and just go to sleep. Tomorrow will be harrowing as it is; River and the Doctor in the Tardis after Amy and Rory have said their goodbyes. She never was very good at keeping River’s emotions from getting to her. And tomorrow it will be a different world altogether.

Reluctantly she fishes the brown envelope from her dresser where she’d hidden it from Nicola’s prying eyes and settles herself at the kitchen table. She can postpone this of course. Do it tomorrow, or the day after, or next week. But what’s the point?

It doesn’t matter.

Pulling the crisp papers from the envelop she tries not to think of it as another failure. It is of course a futile effort in itself. Seeing the official end of her marriage in black and white brings tears to her eyes she furiously tries to blink back.

She’s sorely tempted to just sign the damn thing and get it over with. They’ve gone back and forth on this so often over the years, she just wants it done. It is a relief that she’ll no longer have to think about what to put down on forms that ask about her marital status, or what to say to people who enquire about her marriage or who want to know whether or not she’s single.

Most importantly though, this signature means that she can finally, _finally_ stop worrying about losing her daughter and that is more than enough reason to make herself read through the agreement and sign with quick, sharp strokes.

Her addled brain can’t quite figure out what to make of the situation, leaving her in tears and smiling like a fool.

That night, there are no nightmares.

====

It takes her longer to get going in the mornings. Her whole body aches when the alarm blares and especially the muscles in her back and shoulders are stiff and take forever to warm up under a stream of hot water. At six thirty, Alex has dragged herself to hair and make-up, fighting hard not to fall back asleep while Anne and Katlyn work on her hair and carefully build up her layers of make-up to hide the still noticeable bruises on her face and neck.

She barely catches a glimpse of Matt before they’re called to their markers. Usually when they shoot scenes like this – that is to say emotional and character building scenes – he all but stalks her in advance. They’ll run lines off each other, flirt to get themselves into their character’s headspace. His absence now throws her ridiculously off balance.

Alex runs her last days on set over and over in her mind, trying to figure out why he’d be upset with her. Had she said something he might’ve misinterpreted? Sure, she’d told him to leave during that stupid, stupid little meltdown, but she hadn’t meant like this.

Why would he think she did? And why hadn’t he come to talk to her about it if he had? Huffing out her frustration, she shakes her head. No, he’s probably just tired, or maybe he’s gone out over the weekend and is suffering the aftermath.

She probably just got used to his attentiveness during the immediate aftermath of her... thing.

Silly Alex, she always does lean on people a little too quickly, a little too easily.

Beth comes over to carefully undo the sling cradling her injured arm and Alex busies herself running through some of the physical therapy exercises to stimulate blood flow to her hand and fingers.

Matt comes on set a few moments later, fiddling with the Doctor’s bow tie and undoing the hair department’s hard work by repeatedly tugging his fingers through his carefully coifed fringe. He doesn’t greet her, only acknowledges her presence with a small smile.

Really, what did she do? Kick his puppy or something? This cannot be over Thursday’s incident. Can it? No. Of course not. He’s probably already in the Doctor’s headspace, having just said goodbye to Amelia Pond. Poor River, competing with her mother like that.

 Alex mimes out the Tardis’ landing sequence at the console, watching Matt take his position on the stairs from the corner of her eye. He really portrays his character’s devastation well. So well, River is tempted to go over there and wrap her arms around him – and Alex is too.

But River knows it’s too soon for comfort and Alex has a job to do.

As soon as the director gives the go, her hands move through the sequence Matt has practiced with her until her hands bled. River is keeping herself busy just to not think about what had happened. She glances at her husband only because she does not trust him to not do something stupid right now.

“River.” She shuts her eyes against his broken voice. “They were your parents. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.” And oh, _lie_. Of course it matters. It always matters. But her priority lies with him. “What matters is this – don’t travel alone, Doctor.” River has waited an eternity to touch and smell and taste her Doctor again. She will not let him fall apart now.

The Doctor doesn’t know of course that for River this is after The Library and neither does Matt. Steven is brilliantly cruel to both characters, but sometimes Alex wonders about the man. River’s devotion is brutally tragic and she is certainly far stronger than Alex has ever been, deferring to her mother’s influence on the man she loves without fear or jealousy.

Matt – as always – balances between the Doctor’s desolation and stubborn bravery with unfailing precision. But as soon as the scene wraps and the director gives them five before going through it again, he high-tails out of Alex’s sight and again it leaves her jarred.

Fine. Fine. If he refuses to talk to her then that’s fine. Really, he is under no obligation to speak to her. Certainly she’d prefer to work out whatever bothers him like adults, but clearly whatever she’s done has truly upset him.

Even though she cannot think of what exactly she’s done, the knowledge sits in her chest like a heavy, sharp-edged weight.

“That was... wow. That makes me feel even worse actually.”

Confused, Alex turns to her onscreen mum. “About what?”

“Well, Amy’s goodbye to her daughter is a bit, I dunno, flat, don’t you think?” The younger woman looks at her uncertainly, her wide eyes muddled.

Motioning Karen to sit down, Alex sinks into a nearby chair. “She’s been through a lot with the Doctor and has spend a lot more time with him than with River.”

“Yeah. But she’s their daughter. Shouldn’t it be more than ‘behave and goodbye’?”

A weight Alex hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying lifted at that moment. Karen is asking her advice as a colleague, as a professional. She doesn’t look at Alex as if the older woman is moments from falling apart – doesn’t hem and haw to avoid the prickly subject to do with the kidnapping or its aftermath.

It makes her feel almost normal again and for that she’s ever so grateful.

They chat about Amy and River’s relationship all through the five minute break, only stopping when Matt skulks back on set.

“Do you have any idea what’s got his panties in a twist?“ Karen wonders.

Alex is forced to shake her head.

“We took him out Saturday night, but he’s not spilling. Been a while since I’ve seen a triple-M.”

“A what?”

“Oh, that’s what Arthur and I have dubbed it – a Major Matt Mope.”

Alex snorts before catching herself and quickly changes the subject because she really does not want to talk about Matt. “So, you and Arthur, when did that happen?”

A blush steels across Karen’s cheeks, colouring her pale skin almost as scarlet as her hair. “During... when you were...” she gestures awkwardly between them, “you know.”

“Ah. Well. At least some good came from that?”

“It’s been good,” the younger woman confirms shyly. “It would be, wouldn’t it? We’ve gotten to know each other so well and Arthur is a good bloke. He tempers my crazy.”

It’s not unusual for attractions to develop between co-stars or for those attractions to turn into full blown relationships. Especially not when you have to share as much on screen as Karen and Arthur have. “Well congratulations to you, then.” She smiles warmly at her friend.

“Thanks. I just hope it lasts, you know. I’ll be in LA soon and Darvil’s gonna stay here. How did you manage it?” Karen’s eyes go wide almost as soon as the question leaves her mouth. “Shit, sorry. Me and  my big mouth – I didn’t mean—“

“It’s okay, dear, really. It’s not something you can compare though. Flo and I had been together for years and I did very little travelling when I was working on ER.” Of course it had hardly worked out between her and Florian, though that had little to do with travelling. Still, best not to tell Karen of the freshly signed divorced papers. “You’ll have to figure out together how to deal with it.”

“You’re right. Thanks Alex.”

Standing up, she accepts her co-stars quick hug before heading towards her marker. The smile she offers Matt when she passes him, is ignored.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know about as much about mental health as I know about acting and physical health - which is to say very little at all. Please that in mind when reading...

They shoot on location for the remainder of the week and though Alex can feel herself regaining strength, ferrying back and forth between Cardiff and Bristol is taking up so much of her energy she still has to call it quits after four and a half hours of shooting on Friday.

At least her constant fatigue makes it easier to deal with the night shoots. She has no problems falling asleep regardless of time of day or night.

Things with Matt have improved as well. That is to say he’s talking to her again, just not about what’s bothering him. Something is very much bothering him, she knows this because he’s suddenly developed a filter. It’s written all over his face whenever he starts to say something, but then revises or retracts it before the words leave his mouth.

Alex gives up trying to get him to fess up. Going along with it and pretending everything is fine is simply easier.

Besides, she has enough things to deal with as it is. The Doctors are pleased with her progress, but the nerve damage to her shoulder is causing some concern. She can’t afford to keep the sling on during filming. Steven and the director have been kind enough to shoot a couple of her scenes in such away she could keep the sling, but for the majority it’s just not an option.

Neither is postponing anymore of the filming, she feels bad enough for the delays and problems already caused. Any more and they might decide she’s just not worth the trouble.

So Alex soldiers on and ignores the tingling in her hand and fingers. It’ll be fine.

On Thursday Salome calls her in tears. Florian has proposed to his girlfriend, who’s said yes and does this mean I have to call her ‘mom’ now? And why do they have to get married, because Linda is a bitch – sorry – Linda is not very nice and why can’t I come and live with you, mum?

She does her best to ease her daughter’s worries. No of course she doesn’t have to call Linda ‘mom’ if she doesn’t want to – and daddy proposed because he loves her, but that doesn’t mean he loves Salome any less. But what can she say to Salome’s dislike of the woman?

It’s not new, but she always thought her little girl just needed time to adjust. Florian hadn’t been dating Linda long in the grand scheme of things, a little under a year as far as Alex knows. What if Salome really doesn’t like the woman?

And truth to be told, she feels rather unsettled when she learns that Linda is trying to get custody of her nine-year-old niece and bring the girl to the States. She’d always wanted Salome to have a brother or sister, but right now that might be too big a change.

By the time she’s spoken to Florian she doesn’t know what to think of anything anymore and her head is threatening to split apart. Couldn’t he have waited just a bit longer? She can barely keep herself together at this point, how can she possibly help her daughter adjust to a new family?

She’ll have to attend the wedding to be there for her little girl. Right now it’s scheduled for late July, right in the middle of her time with Salome of course and of course Florian and Linda want her to be part of the pre-wedding build-up and yes, Alex resents them for cutting into her time with her daughter.

But fine, when she’s cleared to fly again, she can take Salome back to LA mid-July. Of course she’s scheduled to be on the NCIS-set mid-August, which further cuts into her time with Sal. It doesn’t make her bad mother, Alex reminds herself firmly. She needs to work.

But with everything that’s happened and her still healing body, juggling all this is promising to be an exhausting task. What choice does she have though? Her daughter comes first. Always.

“What about yourself?” The counsellor wants to know the next day.

Marjorie is nice enough – early sixties, kind brown eyes and a pleasant, soothing voice. And always annoyingly calm. She doesn’t push or pry for answers, just waits for Alex to open up with a gentle smile. “I’m fine.” Because if she says so often enough, it may become true.

“You’re really not.”

Shrugging, she lets her eyes wander the sparsely decorated walls of Marjorie’s office. There are a couple of plants, two shelves with books and a Van Gogh reproduction. Alex knows that behind her there’s a large window and a sturdy door with a red light and a clock above it. “I have a daughter who depends on me and a film crew who cannot move on if I don’t show up. I have to be fine.”

“But you’re not.”

Glaring at the older woman, she huffs pointedly.

“These things take time, Alex.”

If she were to stop dying her hair, would it turn a similar salt-and-pepper grey as the Counsellor’s? Marjorie isn’t that much older than her really and lately Alex has been feeling, well, _old_. There are wrinkles around her eyes that take an extra layer of make-up to hide and she is sure that if she did stop dying her curls there’d be more grey than she’s prepared to deal with.

But though she can hide these things with make-up and dye and push-up bra’s, they’re still there. It’s never really bothered her – getting older. It happens and she’d really would not like to be stuck in her forties forever, but ever since _Joe_ it feels like it’s all happening so much quicker than before.

“I’m tired,” she admits quietly, “exhausted, all the time.”

“Of course you are.” At her narrowed gaze, Marjorie explains. “Your body is healing, that takes a lot of energy. I bet you haven’t been eating properly, so that doesn’t help. And then you’re worrying, aren’t you? About your daughter and filming and your career, your divorce, what to do next. How to do it. On top of that, you still have to deal with what happened to you. You might be successful in ignoring it, but I promise you your subconscious isn’t. That takes up energy too, a lot more than you realize.”

Deflated, Alex sinks further into the leather chair. If you sum it up like that, well, no wonder indeed. “So what do I do?”

“You talk to me.”

“And that’ll fix everything?”

“No. But it’s a start.” Marjorie leans towards her and even though she can see it coming, Alex still tenses when the other woman places a weathered, warm hand on hers and squeezes encouragingly. “You survived. You fought him and you survived. That is admirable, it is impressive and courageous, but you’ve been surviving ever since, haven’t you?”

She may as well have been slapped. Her breath is stuck high in her throat and her brain takes ages to catch up. Is that what she’s been doing? Surviving? “I didn’t...” Her vision blurs. Tears. Terrific. “Is that why--?”

“It’s a coping mechanism. It kept you alive and you’ve been afraid of what would happen if you switched it off, so to speak, so you didn’t.”

“I didn’t realize.”

“That’s part of it and it’s the part where I come in. Okay?”

“But I...” struggling for the words, Alex studies her healing fingertips. The three nails she’d lost are just starting to grow back. Failing to come up with a more diplomatic description, she gives up. “I won. He’s dead, I’m alive.”

“And you think that doesn’t entitle you to help.”

“I won,” she repeats because her brain can only comprehend these two words. But still she feels herself shrink under the Counsellor’s warm and sympathetic gaze.

“There are no winners in situations like yours, Alex.” She glances up when the older woman’s voice takes on a sharper edge. “You didn’t die. But you didn’t win either.”

She’d been so convinced she could do this. After all, her injuries would heal and he hadn’t done anything to her – not anything that warranted a break down. He’d hurt her yes, but he hadn’t touched her or – god forbid – raped her. In the end, Joe was dead and she was alive. That meant she’d won. She wasn’t a victim and she certainly didn’t get to behave like one. Of course she could do this.

She’d been so wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs for everyone who's taken the time to kudo and review! I love you all ;)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post this yet, 'cos I'm still not very happy with it - but I'm a journalist and without a deadline I'd never publish anything, so here we go...
> 
> Also, don't be shocked, this has actual Matt/Alex interaction. Of a sort anyway, hehe

It takes him forever to get into the Doctor’s head today. Usually it’s like slipping into a warm bath. Matt doesn’t know if it’s an innate ability as Alex insists, or simply practised behaviour. This is by far the longest role he’s had in his relatively short career and practice makes perfect, doesn’t it?

Today it feels like his first day on set all over again. Everything distracts him. Karen and Arthur snogging in one of the alcoves behind the well-lit set, the extra donned up in her Angel costume and blocking out her movements with the director. Even Steven humming to himself is infinitely interesting because it means he doesn’t have to look at her.

He does of course. He can’t help it. If Alex is in sight, his eyes find her no matter how much he tries to distract himself. She’s intently watching the prop guys set up their mock-Angel.

Because she can’t keep her arm elevated on her own, the props department has fashioned an actual statue for these scenes that’s strong enough to support her arm for her. The down side is that to minimize damaging the prop they have to limit her getting in and out of its grip as much as possible. It’s not going to be a fun shoot for her, pinned into one place.

He can practically see the gears turn in her head as she watches it being bolted into place. It’s unbearably cute.

And god she’d probably hit him over the head if he called her cute to her face.

She is though.

Hot too. This dress is another one that makes his fingers itch and causes crude images to pop into his head. Fell an ox indeed.

They’ve toned down Alex’s make-up for this episode and used something that should be illegal on her hair to take the shine and bounce out of her curls. It’s all part of the older, tired River who has been running around New York investigating deadly statues for God knows how long without her husband.

For the Doctor it hasn’t been that long since he’s seen his wife. At least Matt doesn’t think so and Steven hadn’t disagreed. The Doctor is surprised and a little bit horrified to learn that she’s pardoned from Storm Cage and a professor now, so it really can’t have been long for him.

For as long as River is, was, in prison he would visit her at night. And until he’s explicitly told otherwise, Matt holds this to be true. It’s probably not entirely healthy, but he needs the Doctor to be a good husband to River Song.

Alex catches his eyes when they’re called into position and smiles encouragingly. It makes Matt’s chest constrict and his stomach turn. He’s been trying to put a little distance between himself and his co-star, before he does something stupid like rip his heart out of his chest and hand it to her on a silver platter. After what happened to her, him going all emo on her is the last thing Alex needs.

It really hasn’t helped. He still drinks in the sight of her when he can, breathes more deeply when she’s near just to infuse himself with her scent.

As soon as the director calls action, those liberties are allowed and he indulges them fully under the guise of acting.

He stumbles out of the mock-Tardis on cue, Amy in tow, and twirls around the set until his eyes come to rest on River. Well, not _rest_ , exactly. His eyes sweep up and down her body, tantalizing curves emphasized enticingly by the fit of her dress and the position in which the Angel holds her.

He dances towards Grayle’s study. “Sorry, I’m late Honey, traffic was hell.” Mentally he chastises his vocal chords for making the words come out in a higher pitch than intended, but recovers when checking over Grayle. “Shock. He’ll be fine.”

But then River – Alex – turns to look at him over her shoulder and all of his thoughts sort of... vanish. “Not if I can get loose.”

Close enough to get lost in the smell of her, he all but ignores her, focussing instead on the Angel holding his wife captive. The sonic comes out as they flirt their way through syncing diaries. River’s eyes sparkle fondly and never leave him for longer than a second.

He’ll have to ask River if that’s because she hasn’t seen him in so long, or if she’s angling at something else. “Weren’t you the woman who killed the Doctor?” He questions instead.

River smirks at him, rolling her eyes without actually doing so. “Doctor Who?”

The Doctor giggles a little at that because finally, _finally_ he got her to say it. There’s only a second to spare for gloating and he schools his features into the Doctor’s serious face quickly. This is where it starts. “She’s holding you very tight.”

His River is brave, as always and not as concerned for her safety as maybe she should be. When she works out that it’s her wrist that has to be broken, her voice is light and theatrically plaintive, but her eyes shimmer with a bit of dread.

Karen does a terrific job of looking both guilty and impatient. They banter about the book, River mocks the cover and for a moment every looks to work out. Yes, he’ll break his wife’s wrist but Amy’s gone to fetch Rory and they’ll figure out how to destroy the Angels together. New York will be safe and he’ll have all his Ponds. It doesn’t really get better than that.

Ohhh, what adventure will be next he wonders? Glancing through the book’s chapter titles, he finds a different spoiler all together.

Matt stops thinking – has to – the only way to get through a scene like this is to let go and roll with the punches as it were. Amy! But no, River first, if anyone can – she can. She’s shouting at him and he throws his fear onto her shoulders. Not Amy. Never little Amelia Pond – the only one he hadn’t screwed up yet. “No! Get your wrist out. You get your wrist out without breaking it!”  
 She looks properly taken aback, her eyes wide with just the slightest hint of fear. “How?” Her breath is caught in her throat, as it should be. He will not lose anyone today.

“I don’t know, just do it! Change the future!” He almost slips on one of the sheets of paper strewn about the floor as he races off set.

“Cut!”

It takes Matt a few breaths to steady himself. When he feels the adrenaline leaving him, he joins his co-stars where Alex is still in the Angel’s clutches. They listen dutifully to the directions – more urgency for Amy – more terror for him – less concern over the Doctor for Alex.

“How’s the arm?” He wonders when the director has stepped away to discuss something or other with Dave the sound guy.

Alex blinks at him. “Fine, darling.”

The assistant-director calls him over to work out his back-and-forth running together with Amy. He pays attention, he does, but he also keeps an eye on Alex. She looks a little forlorn, standing all alone with the Angel statue and her eyes flit around her surroundings, never resting anywhere for long and not once coming to rest on the Angel itself.

With the lighting sorted and him and Karen perfectly aware of where they can move without taking themselves off camera, everyone takes their positions and the scene starts again.

Alex speaks her lines a little breathlessly, less concerned and flirting more. River’s eyes though speak volumes of their own. The Doctor keeps being drawn back to her as if he can’t quite escape the gravity of her.

Her fingers flex in the Angel’s grasp, he runs his finger down her nose. Her breath hitches and just like that, Matt is Matt again. “You okay?”

Alex is startled by his sudden drop out of character, but the next second she glares at him. “I’m fine, _Doctor_.”

“All right, let’s keep going guys.”

He does his best to get back into character and continue per the director’s order. A knot of worry has settled high in his chest however and the way Alex glared at him just now is etched into his mind. He trips over his own feet coming back to her, then completely misses his line as his eyes are drawn to the indecent cut of her dress.

“Cut!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Take a minute, Matt, then let’s try this again.”

This time he purposefully does not look at his co-star, running himself through the Doctor’s motivation again.

At the director’s order they start up once more. This time he is firmly in character. The Doctor takes a little pride in the slightly higher pitched voice of his wife. Her green eyes are glued to him, her chest rises and falls with her breaths, presented in a particular _Yowzah_ -way. River really is a bad, bad girl.

Rory’s in the cellar – brilliant those chapter titles! And curse those chapter titles! Amelia’s Last Farewell.

No. Just no.

Damn River for writing it down, for letting him read it. He will not, _cannot_ let this happen.

“No! Get your wrist out. You get your wrist out without breaking it!” She created this, she could bloody well fix it.

“How?” River’s voice cracks and there’s more than a hint of panic in her eyes.

_Good_ , thinks the Doctor. Serves her right. “I don’t know, just do it! Change the future!”

The Doctor’s anger and fear leaves him only when the director yells cut and immediately Matt back tracks to where Alex is still being held by the statue. He’s never had to be quite so angry with her – can’t recall ever shouting to her since those first scenes in the Byzanthium. The experience sits uncomfortably in his belly.

His own discomfort is quickly forgotten though when he approaches Alex.

Her face is whiter than he’s ever seen it and the panic in her eyes leaps out at him as strongly as it had that first night in the hospital. “Get it off me,” she whispers hoarsely. “Please, just get it off!” She’s shaking like a leaf and God that look on her face. His heart breaks.

Matt is torn between wrapping his arms around her trembling body and getting help. In his moment indecisiveness, Alex loses the little grip she has on herself and attempts to pull her wrist from the statue, pain flashing across her features.

The statue doesn’t budge.

He’s barely processed what’s happening to her when – with her increasing forceful pulls – the statue starts to wobble. “Please,” she begs breathlessly, “Matt, please, get it off me. Let me go! Just let me go!”

At her use of his name, he’s finally shocked into action. “Alex, you’re fine. It’s just a prop. You’re okay.” Tears spring to his eyes as well and he blinks them back furiously. He can see in her eyes that she’s trying to fight the panic, but oh it _hurts_ to see her like this. “You’re hurting yourself, please, Alex, please stop.”

She’s is quickly nearing a state of blind panic. Her eyes are beginning to glaze over and her curls whip around her face as she yanks at the statue like a trapped animal. Her breathing is shallow and high in her chest – increasingly loud and ineffective.

Even though she’s obviously still weak and favouring her shoulder, the prop wasn’t build for this and he can hear it begin to crack, sees the way it is coming close to the toppling point.

People have run over at the commotion and are talking to her or him, he really doesn’t care. Their hands are all over the prop to keep it from falling on top of Alex. Tim the prop-master is trying to keep her still long enough so he can work the mechanism that keeps the Angel’s hand wrapped around Alex’s wrist.

And all Matt can do is get as close to her as she’ll allow and try to calm her with his words, fighting his own rising panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hesitate to leave a comment - good, bad or ugly. I take them all to heart, promise


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trauma, the gift that keeps on giving...
> 
> (no seriously, I think you'll like this chapter, even if it has feels)

It takes forever.

Or it feels like it takes forever before the statue finally releases Alex’s wrist and Matt knows it must be even worse for her.

As soon as the prop-master pries the statue’s fingers loose, Alex stumbles back into Matt. On instinct he wraps his arms around her waist and oh that is the wrong thing to do. She bolts from his grasp, so close to hyperventilating his own chest aches in sympathy.

Bewildered, the crew watches as their guest star stumbles off set. Matt follows of course, telling his colleagues to give her space. His eyes briefly catch Karen’s – who is tearing up, her large eyes bright with tears and worry.

Oddly, the thought that crosses his mind at that point is how happy he is Salome isn’t here to witness her mother like this. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget seeing Alex so panicked and out of sorts.

Ahead of him, she pushes through the set-doors and out of sight. He jogs a few steps to catch up with her and finds her just outside. She’s bend over, hands braced against the brick wall and her whole body heaves with her attempts to suck in as much fresh air as possible.

Unsure if she’ll allow him any closer, he hovers behind her ready to do whatever she needs him to.

Her knees wobble precariously. Instantly he’s there, one hand steadying around her waist. She chokes out a sob and retches.

“It’s okay,” he tells her quietly, “you’re fine. I’ve got you. Let go.”

Another sob and he just manages to gather her thick mane of curls in his other hand before she empties her stomach on the ground. Her entire body is wracked by each retch and heave.

She throws up again and again and when her stomach is empty and the panic starts to wane, all strength leaves her shivering body.

Matt gathers her to him and moves both of them away from her sick before leaning against the wall and hugging Alex against his chest. His right hand rubs circles on her lower back. With the left he cradles the back of her head and presses her face into his chest. “It’s okay,” he soothes softly, “you’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Alex curls her fingers into his shirt, clinging on for dear life as her raspy breaths turn into broken sobs.

His heart shatters for her and in that moment he would very much like to drag Daniel Chance back from the dead just so he can kill the man himself. Slowly.

Scarcely a minute later when Alex’s breaths have evened out some, the doors they came through open again and Steven steps out. Concern is written clear across his face as he meets Matt’s eyes.

Matt, for his part, doesn’t have the faintest clue what to tell him.

For a moment, Steven looks just as lost. His dark eyes settle on Alex’s back. “Take ‘r home, Matt.”

At the new voice, Alex freezes and sucks in a deep breath. She struggles in his hold until he’s forced to let her go. She turns to face their boss, wobbling only slightly. “No. Steven, I’m fine.” To her credit, she almost manages to hide the tremor in her voice. “I just need a few minutes.”

The Scott shakes his head. “I’m not putting you through this, Alex. I never should have let you come back to work so soon. Go home and take the time you need. We’ll make it work.”

“No! We’re already behind and I can do this. I can!” But even she can hear the hysterical edge in her as evidenced by the awkward pause that falls.

“The schedule is not more important than your health.”

“You can’t send me home. I’ll be fine. It’s just that I couldn’t move. I’ll be fine with the other scenes. Steven, I promise. Please don’t send me home.”

“Alex...”

“Please? I’ll – I’ll rest, promise, you can have someone of the medical staff check me out. Don’t send me home.”

Matt can picture exactly the look she must be giving Steven now; wide, pleading eyes and that soft half-smile. He’s yet to meet anyone who can say no to that look. The Scott is no exception. He sighs. “If the nurse disagrees, you’ll go home?”

“Fine. Yes. Thank you.”

Steven shakes his head again, as if he can’t quite believe he’s letting her do this. But how do you say no to a pleading Alex Kingston? Matt would certainly like to know. “Stay with her, Matt. Any sign of trouble...”

“Got it,” he answers just as Alex complains she doesn’t need a babysitter. Steven’s look on the matter speaks volumes and Alex’s curls brush forward and expose her neck when she hangs her head in deference.

With a steadying arm around her waist, Matt begins to guide her to her trailer. He watches her carefully, still fighting the urge to pull her back into a hug and never let go. She puts quite a bit of weight on him to relieve her ribs, despite insisting she’s fine and he notices how slow and deliberate her breathing is.

She really isn’t fine.

And when she flinches after stretching out her injured left arm, Matt decides to risk her wrath.

“Maybe you should go home.”

Grinding her teeth, she pauses to glare at him. “Not a chance.”

“Steven is right, Kingston. Your health comes first.”

Now just in front of her trailer, she comes to a halt. “I just need a little time before the next shoot.”

“Ah huh. Care to open the door?”

Smugly, she turns the handle with her right – good – hand, but then stumbles on the second stair leading to the door. His hands are instantly back around her waist to stop her from falling backwards. “Shut up,” she mutters before he has a chance to say anything.

Not that he was going to; she just made his point for him rather succinctly.

Twenty minutes later, after she’s brushed her teeth and the medic has come and went and chastised Alex for aggravating her shoulder and when she’s reclined on the crappy sofa with a freshly brewed pot of tea at her side, Matt relaxes a little. Her features are drawn and she looks – is – exhausted, but it appears nothing a little rest won’t fix.

“I’d still feel better if you’d go home, Kingston. So would Steven.”

She doesn’t quite have the energy to manage a full glare, but makes a decent effort. At least that heart-wrenching fear and panic is gone from her eyes. He does not even want to see it again. “I’m not putting us any further behind schedule, Matt. I’ll be fine.”

And just like that, all those messy feelings he’s been trying to deal with (okay, hide) for the past weeks are suddenly high in his throat, crawling up to his vocal chords.

He’s been so scared and he’s still so very worried about her and her determination to put the schedule ahead of her mental and physical well being. Nothing, there’s not a single thing he can think of that is more important to him than Alex.

It scares the hell out of him.

When had a silly crush turned into this?

“Matt?”

This is not the time to tell her, he knows that, but he has to say _something_ or he’ll burst apart. “Let us help Alex, please. You’re a part of this. All of us, we care about you. Trust me, no one here would mind shooting through the bloody summer if it helps you.”

She looks up at him through her curls, startled and wide-eyed, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of tea. She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times without speaking, but then seemingly comes to a decision with a sigh. “Thank you.”

For a moment he thinks that’s all he’s going to get and it shouldn’t hurt that she still won’t really talk to him. It shouldn’t, but it does anyway.

Alex, however, is not done. She takes a sip of her tea before focussing her eyes – grey in the dim light of the trailer – at some point over his shoulder. “I’m not doing this out of guilt, Matthew – well, maybe a little.” Her self-deprecating smirk tugs on his heartstrings, the way his given name rolls of her tongue sends a little frisson through him. “The walls of that little apartment are closing in on me and everyone keeps looking at me as if I’m going to fall apart at any given moment. They may not be entirely wrong.”

Again a wry little smile, but this time it’s followed by a deep breath as if she’s pulling all her courage together and again he’s nearly overcome by the urge to close the distance between them and fold her into his arms. To push his nose among those magical curls and inhale the scent of Alex and shampoo. To feel her heart thud against his own and her flawless skin beneath the tips of his fingers.

And he knows how amazing all of those things feel and smell when they are both hidden under layers of make-up and exposed under the unforgiving eyes of a film crew, but to know those things in the privacy and vulnerability of both of them stripped down to regular people – oh how he _wishes_.

 Alex’s voice trembles a little when she finds it again, startling him back from the land of wishes and dreams.

“I need to feel like myself – I need to do something. To prove to myself and to everyone else that I’m not... damaged, I guess? Or at least not more than I already was.” Finally she looks at him, laughing awkwardly at herself and Matt knows instinctively that although she tries to pass it off as a joke at her own expense, her words surprised herself as much as they surprised him.

His heart soars and falters simultaneously because she confided in _him_ and because she feels like _that_. He says the only thing he can. “You are amazing.”

And if Alex looks stunning when she’s flirting to make him blush, she is nothing short of breathtaking when she’s the one doing the blushing.

Matt shrugs helplessly. “I’m paying you a compliment, Kingston. Deal with it.”

She holds his eyes a second longer before tutting at him. “Well, when you put it like _that_. Such a charmer, aren’t you, Darling?”

He grins fondly at her. “Shut up and drink your tea, Dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comfort tea for everyone! Thank you all for sticking with this andkudoing and commenting, it's an excellent motivation to keep the story going 'cos we've got ways to go yet. Let's hope I can keep it interesting :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days late and a few coins short I'm afraid. On the plus side, the lack in quality is compensated (poorly) by an increase in quantity

 

It’s not that he’s panicking. Of course he’s not panicking. It’s Friday night and the producers are throwing an impromptu party. There are snacks and there is booze and currently no Alex in sight.

This is not a reason to panic.

They’re all friends here and everyone’s having a good time, going by the glassy eyes and too loud laughter. Yup, there is booze. It is rather nice to let off some steam this way and Matt has enjoyed himself immensely talking and dancing with his co-stars and the various crewmembers.

Which is why he’s not panicking.

He’s merely a tad concerned.

Alex is around somewhere – she has to be. He’s kept an eye on her all evening. Out of concern, maybe – mostly though because he just can’t _not_ look at her. He’s tried, really.

Surely if she’d gone back to her apartment she’d have said goodbye? They’d finished their very last scene together earlier today. And Alex never left a shoot without saying goodbye. For the past two days they’d been reshooting the scene where River is trapped by the Angel in Grayle’s study. They’d never properly finished that shoot the first time ‘round, had missed out completely on tight shots and individual angles.

His co-star had held up much better this time around, to everyone’s relief and it has been a few days since she wilted mid-day. She even stayed for the party.

Except that he can’t find her.

Maybe she’s just tired and resting up somewhere, or maybe she’s snuck off with someone chat privately. Or maybe she’s just getting some fresh air, or the events of the day have caught up with her and she’s slunk off to avoid worrying anyone.

Well, that certainly failed. He’s worried all right.

She’s a big girl, he knows this – has seen how strong she’d been in the aftermath of her kidnapping – how resolutely she refused to let the experience bring her down. But they’d all seen first-hand how difficult it had been for her and perhaps he’d been watching a little more closely than most.

Matt excuses himself from Dave the sound guy and takes off to track down his co-star.

Alex is not outside with the smokers, or in her trailer. Her coat is still in Steven’s office and there’s no sign of her in wardrobe – usually one of her favourite spots.

Still, he is not panicking.

He checks the Tardis’ set, sneaks into the greenroom and even the producer’s hut and okay, maybe now he’s panicking just a little.

Then his eyes catch the door to the annex where they keep the smaller props and she’d better well be there because he’s this close to calling the coppers.

Sure enough, once his eyes adjust to the dark he spots the outline of her, perched atop of a crate. He mutters a _thank God_ under his breath.

Uncertain whether she’s heard him or not, Matt approaches carefully. Alex doesn’t acknowledge him. He should probably clear his throat or shuffle his feet – make some sort of innocuous noise – but right now he can’t even breathe.

The space smells like his Year 9 Science classroom; glue and wood with an undertone of dust. From the far end of the storage space comes a faint, orange light that filters through Alex’s curls and just makes the edges of her figure glow golden. The way she’s leaning back on her good arm makes her breasts jut out and River’s black stiletto’s gleam in the dim light.

And oh god he can picture with perfect clarity stepping in between her legs, the skirt of her dress hitched up between them and her arms wound around his neck as she arches up to him, one of his hands would slide to the small of her back and the other would find the curve of her perfect breast. She’d taste of wine, soda and peanuts and _Alex_ – and he’s taken three steps in her direction to make all of that reality when her yelp yanks him rudely back to the present.

“Bloody hell, Matt! You scared me.”

He’s not looking at her chest. Really. He’s not. “Sorry.”

“How long have you been there?”

“Just got in,” he replies, his hands waving between them to expel nervous energy. “What are you doing here?”

Following her line of sight when she turns her head back to whatever she’d been looking at before, his eyes come to rest on the Angel-statue.

The faint light casts shadows on its warped features and gives the semi-stone a particular horror-esque quality that even the deliberate lighting on set hadn’t achieved. “Creepy.”

Alex hums in agreement but doesn’t look at him again. “It’s just a prop.”

“Yeah.” Matt shifts awkwardly on his feet, suddenly all too aware of his long limbs and his co-star’s distracted state of mind. “Party too loud?”

He keeps half an eye on her while picking his way over to a crate close to her. In the dusky light, he almost trips over something metallic on the floor. At least she can’t see him blush and her only reaction to his muttered curse is a faint smile, lip gloss a tantalizing peach.

“Are you okay?” The wood creaks a little under his weight when he settles on his makeshift chair and belatedly the risk of splinters comes to mind. Oh well, he’s a big boy. He can handle a little splinter, even though they bloody hurt.

“Fine, darling.” And she does sound fine. Okay, not fine exactly – she sounds weary and perhaps a bit tired. Her voice is soft and low and that really doesn’t help him to un-distract himself. But she doesn’t sound hurt, or afraid. “I just wanted to look at it for a bit, y’know? I can’t believe I freaked out over... that.” Her good hand flies up to wave in front of her.

“To be fair, I don’t think it was the Angel.”

Alex worries her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes – tinged golden this time – thoughtfully on him for a moment. His heart flutters excitedly in his chest. “No, I don’t think so either,” she admits at last before turning back to the statue.

With some difficulty, Matt drags his eyes away from her and instead studies the Angel. A far less lovely sight, but much safer.

This has been the only episode River has been in and he doesn’t know if she’ll appear again in the latter half of this season. River’s big storyline had reached its conclusion in last season’s finale and he’d been preparing himself for having Alex around less.

It’s a bit childish that he has to, really. But with Karen and Arthur leaving completely, he doesn’t want to lose Alex too. It’s not as if she’s been in every episode – or even every other episode before this. He missed her though, he always does. It’s just nice to have someone with her experience around as a steadying and encouraging presence and Alex isn’t half-bad to look at or kiss or flirt with.

And he does love the kissing and the flirting. Quite a lot. _Loads_. Far more than he should, certainly. She just makes it so utterly irresistible, what with her hair and that voice and the naughty twinkle in her eyes. He loves the way she talks too, endearingly serious about the things she is passionate about and always willing to hear someone else’s take.

Even now, sitting silently in the semi-dark she puts him at ease. His limbs settle and his mind stills, even his fingers are resting against the wood below him. No urge to drag them through his hair, or tap them against his thigh.

In the dead silence there is only Alex’s rhythmic breathing and the faint bass coming from the party.

Alex must hear it too. “You’re missing the party, darling.”

“Meh. The company is way better here.”

She snorts. “Go have fun, Matt.”

“Who says I’m not having fun right now?” She gives him an envying Eyebrow of Disbelief. “Fine,” he amends easily, “perhaps fun is not the right word, but I’d still rather be here than over there with the mad folk. Problem with that, Kingston?”

“Concern for your questionable sanity, more like.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended on my behalf or yours.”

She probably can’t see the wink he gives her, but he certainly notices the way she fidgets. The woman never can take a compliment. It’s a bit odd for someone in their profession. He could easily spend a lifetime studying all of Alex’s mannerisms.

“How are you, really?”

Startled at his sudden sober tone, Alex turns wide eyes on him. He does his best not to look away or flinch under the intensity of her stare and almost breathes a sigh of relief when her gaze softens and flicks back to the statue. “Some days are better than others. But I’m okay, darling. Truly.”

“Good. Good.” There’s an undercurrent of honesty in her voice that makes his heart jump and it chips away at his ability to filter, because suddenly the thing he has tried so hard not to think about is at the forefront of his mind. “Alex, did he--. It’s just – your father and the Doctors, they told me some, y’know, but not really because we’re not...” _family_ “related and I... it’s not my place, but I... did he _touch_ you?”

The tips of his ears are burning so badly by the time the dreaded words have left his mouth that he’s sure the fire alarm is going to go off any second now and his heart is hammering in his chest with both fear and embarrassment.

It’s not his place to ask – hell, it’s not his place to know. But he’d tried to banish the very notion from his brain and it just would not go away. It’s not that it matters. Well, it matters, but not when it comes to his feeling for her.

He’d read an article in the newspaper (a proper one, thank you) the other day that said thirty percent of all women are sexually assaulted at some point in their lives and he’s no maths genius, but statistically that means someone he knows...

He just couldn’t sit on the question any longer and if Alex gets up now and walks away, or possibly slaps him, well – it wouldn’t be out of line, what is he doing asking something so deeply personal anyway?

But Alex does none of those things.

“You mean did he rape me?” Her voice hitches slightly. “No. I think, if the police hadn’t found me when they did, he might have.”

For a brief second their eyes meet and then hers are back on the statue and he’s looking at his lap.

 “Would have,” she corrects quietly.

Silence stretches in the dark. There is nothing he can think to say or do that won’t take this conversation in a direction neither of them is ready for.

“He said he wanted us to be a family. How did he get that idea?” Her voice rises, then falls when she dares a quick glance in his direction. “I’d never met him before. I woke up somewhere dark and unfamiliar and this man is talking about fixing up a house for us to live in and all I could think to do was not piss him off. But then he started talking about Salome and taking her too and I just---“

Matt’s whole body jerks forward at the moment Alex’s voice breaks. It’s not a conscious choice; he doesn’t even realize he’s moving at all until something sharp pinches through his jeans. Ah, I name thee Splinter.

During his brief distraction, Alex soldiers on. “I couldn’t let him even think it.”

“You fought him.”

“Not really. My hands were tied – literally so.” Her humourless chuckle drips with a painful mixture of anger and fear and he feel helpless, _useless_ in the face of her strength. “But I got free. It took hours, maybe a day – I lost track, but I got myself free.” She wriggles the fingers of her good hand, eyes transfixed on the nails that are just growing back.

It’ll take a while yet, he knows from experience. The memory of soft, vulnerable skin instead of a sturdy nail after a gym-incident in his junior year still makes him cringe.

Then her last words land. “You escaped?” But he’d thought... the police had said – okay, not said so much as implied or vaguely alluded... He looks at her expectantly, oddly cheered somehow but then he looks at her – features drawn in pensive contemplation – and anxiety slips into his veins.

Alex takes a deep breath. “Almost.”

His heart is already hammering in his throat. He’d wanted to know what happened to her, wanted her to talk to him. Now he’s not so sure any more. It just makes him feel so useless, to hear what she’d been through and not being able to help and make it better. He can only sit here and listen like a bloody priest taking a confession. And since neither of them are religious, where’s the point in that?

She makes a sound somewhere between a chortle and a sob, her voice thick when she finds it again. “If only I could have managed to get the bloody security chain off the front door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for your continued support! The next few chapter will be better and finally move plots (some of them, anyway) along, I promise


	25. Chapter 25

In Matt’s mind, the scene is very much like a sub-par horror movie. Alex banging her bloodied fists against a dark, wooden door as she begs to be set free. Blood trickles down from the corner of her mouth, eyes wild in the shadows of a neglected and isolated house and her hair in utter disarray. Her voice is riddled with desperation and tears and behind her a dark looming figure appears while foreboding music swells to a crescendo.

And it doesn’t stop.

Alex tells him rather factually what happened. How Daniel Chance had pulled her back by her hair, choked her and tossed her down the stairs – chained her like a dog. His stomach revolts and he grits his teeth against the fury raging inside his chest. Later, when she is not there to witness him, he’ll punch a hole in something. Several holes into several somethings – the anger inside him enough to make him wreck his apartment and set fire to the building.

It scares him.

Here and now he reigns in those feelings, plasters a well-practiced mask of calm on his face and listens to her.

When Alex arrives at the point of her rescue, she shuts down abruptly. “Next thing I know, I’m in the hospital,” she says with a new tremor to her voice.

Matt considers pushing her a little, but he’s not sure he can bare anymore either and instead convinces her to let him take her home.

Once back at her guest-apartment, she opts for a shower. Matt busies himself making tea and then spends a good ten minutes trying to stop feeling so awkward being in her space without her presence. He’s been here plenty of times before, mostly when Alex inhabited the sparse place, but occasionally while other guest stars moved in for a bit.

Though the furniture and decorations are the same, there is no mistaken the warmth his favourite co-star brings to the place. There are vases with flowers scattered across the horizontal surfaces and pictures of Salome on the shelf above the ancient television.

Alex isn’t a terribly neat housekeeper; pretty much every surface contains something out of place – a dirty tea cup, a scarf or shirt and from under the salon table peeks one lonely pump. On the end table is a collection of her jewellery haphazardly thrown together.

In the kitchen sink there’s evidence that she ate something at least last night, along with a cutting board with breadcrumbs scattered all over it. On the small window she’s taped several of Salome’s drawings and the sunlight filtering through lights up the yellows, blues and reds.

It’s not home, but not for lack of trying.

Matt wonders not for the first time what her house in LA is like; whether it has the same kind of reigned in chaos, what kind of furniture she has. Lush like her figure or quirky like her fashion-sense. And God, since when is he a sixteen year-old _girl_? He really spends far too much time thinking on these things.

He’s just debating whether or not to pick up the novel laying half underneath the sofa when the shower switches off. No distraction in the world can help against knowing that Alex Kingston is _naked_ not two unlocked doors on.

The bathroom doors creaks open shortly after and he studies the heap of jewellery very studiously because if he turns around now, she’ll be there in whatever mode of dress she chose to traverse the few feet from bathroom to bedroom. Maybe a robe, or a towel. Or nothing at all.

That’s not a good place for his mind to go (it’s a brilliant place), blood is already rushing down and his trousers are becoming a little tight and he cannot be getting a hard-on! In a desperate attempt to get himself back under control he thinks of Steven. And Karen. Kissing. It’s as effective as brain bleach – too effective it happens, because when Alex calls his name, he turns without giving it another thought.

The towel it is then.

It’s a nice towel too, hanging low on her breasts and only reaching mid-thigh. Even Steven and Karen can’t distract him now. Shit. What catches his eye more than anything though is her hair. Soaked through her blond curls have been transformed into surprisingly long, dark brown waves – even now refusing to straighten entirely. Drops of water are still clinging to the ends and falling down to roll down her skin onto the towel. He’d very much like to chase every drop across her flawless skin with his fingers and mouth.

“Matt?”

His eyes linger on the red line running along her collarbone, the skin still healing where she’d been cut. He jolts at the mention of his name. Had she been talking? “Yeah? Sorry, I didn’t...”

Alex narrows her eyes and he is not blushing, damn it. “I said it’s okay if you want to head back to the party. I’m quite alright.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

She blinks at him, as if he just asked her to choose between amputation of her arm or her leg. “That’s not...”

“I’m a big boy, Kingston, I can take your rejection. I think.”

“That’s not what I meant, darling. Surely you have better things to do.”

“Better than hanging out and raiding your kitchen? I think not, wife.”

The look that crosses her features has him stumbling for an apology. But before he gets the second syllable past his lips, Alex smiles bravely and turns from him, clearly unwilling to acknowledge whatever is bothering her. “Right then. I’d better get dressed.”

For now, Matt decides to pretend ignorance and allows his eyes to rake down her back. “Spoilsport,” he mutters earnestly.

Knowing that Alex is getting dressed in her bedroom turns out to be just as distracting as knowing she was in the shower – naked – earlier. He picks up the discarded novel, but that doesn’t stop him from wondering what kind of lingerie she’s putting on.

Reading the damn book is equally pointless because of course it’s in German. The cover is of such non-descript nature that all he can glean from it is that it’s fiction. _Tauben fliegen auf_ it says and he’s pretty sure that _fliegen_ translates into flying, but that’s about all he can make of it. Instead Matt decides to switch the kettle on again, bringing the cooled water back up to a boil while fishing Alex’s favourite teapot out from one of the cupboards.

He pops in a sachet of Darjeeling and adds water, then brings the pot to the living space, making another quick trip back to the kitchen for mugs and sugar. Alex prefers Darjeeling at night, he knows, but it’s never been his favourite. With everything ready, he finally sits down on the plush couch and waits for her return.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Alex joins him a few minutes later. Her damp curls are pulled back into a messy ponytail and she’s wearing grey sweatpants and a soft yellow shirt. The attire makes her look achingly homely, although her face and body make him hot under the collar no matter what she wears.

On this particular occasion, what she’s wearing is also not a bra. The outlines of her nipples are faint, so faint he’d never have noticed if he hadn’t been looking. Closely.

Matt shallows hard.

Holy shit. How is he to manage any kind of conversation now? She’s got to be doing this on purpose, right?

He blinks, then forces himself to focus on pouring tea while Alex curls up in the atrociously upholstered loveseat. The green-and-pink monstrosity’s saving grace is how ridiculously comfortable it is. The tea is enough of a distraction to enable him to look up at her face when he sits back down.

“Thank you,” Alex mutters, gesturing at the mug of tea on the end table next to her.

“Don’t mention it. How is Salome? You must look forward to having her back,” he asks because he does care for the poppet and yes, also to help allay his baser instincts. He doesn’t do it to upset Alex, but suddenly there are tears in her eyes and she’s looking at her tea as if it is the most fascinating thing ever. “Alex?”

“She’s fine. She’s good,” she reassures a little too forcefully. “Flo’s making a real effort to include her in the wedding preparations. She doesn’t get on too well with his fiancé, but she’s loving the romance of it.”

Under the pretence of stirring sugar into his tea, his eyes skate down her form. “He proposed then?” It appears that this new openness has considerable effects on his attraction to her. It makes him feel like a bit of a pervert. Alex is vulnerable and he’s wanted so badly for so long for her to trust him with her fears and worries. Now that she seems to be doing just that, he should be evolved past lustful thoughts, shouldn’t he?

“Hmm.”

At least he’s evolved enough not to let those thoughts rule him. “When’s the wedding?”

“Late July – keep forgetting the exact date. Sal’s supposed to come here and then I’ll fly back with her in time for the wedding.”

He glances up at her. “Supposed?”

“Florian wants to keep her.”

“Can he do that?”

Alex chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment, her fingers so tightly wrapped around the mug of tea he’s afraid she might break it. “No. The custody agreement has been finalized and the papers have been signed.” Her voice is dangerously calm and even. “We officiated the divorce three weeks ago. I’d really rather not fight over Salome at any moment, least of all now.

“I can understand that.” After everything she’s been through, finalizing the divorce must’ve been another blow, no matter how long she and her husband had been separated. The timing of the whole affair still troubles him, but there’s little to be done about that

It hits him rather forcefully that this means she’s officially a free woman now. Single.

Available.

“It might be good for Salome to have more time to bond with her – her stepmother – Lord, that’s weird.”

Matt shrugs. “Wouldn’t it also be good for her to spend time with her mother? To be reassured that this doesn’t change the relationship she has with you?”

“I miss her terribly,” Alex admits easily. “I always do. Skype doesn’t make up for an entire ocean, but I have to work and she has school and her friends. She’s so close to her dad. I guess I’ve made my own bed.”

“Nonsense. There are plenty of children whose parents are home all the time but who aren’t loved and supported half as much as you do Sal. If you ask me, knowing that your parents are behind you one-hundred percent no matter what, is more important than pretty much anything else.”

“That’s a lovely thought, darling, but it’s not that simple. Salome’s been brilliant so far. She behaves, does well in school and has plenty of friends. But the divorce and me being away so much and now her father getting remarried to a woman she does not really like yet – Linda’s niece possibly coming to live with them—“ she waves off his confusion, “long story. It has to affect her. I’m worried, Matt. What if she’s trying too hard to be perfect? Florian says she’s been having nightmares since, well—“ another dismissive hand-gesture – tea nearly sloshing over the edges of her mug “that’s another reason he doesn’t want to let her come over.”

There is nothing – no one – more important in this world to Alex than her daughter. He sees this in Alex’s eyes every time she talks or thinks about her little girl. With no parenting experience of his own, Matt takes a moment to carefully word his reply. He needs her to believe him, even though she probably has little reason to. “I’d think that being here with you, seeing that you’re fine, would help. Don’t you think so?”

Alex looks away from him and sucks in a deep breath before looking back up at him. There’s a look of vulnerability in her green eyes that takes his breath away. “But I’m not fine, am I?”

Her small voice makes him wince and as much as he’d like to reassure her, Matt stays silent.

After a long moment Alex continues. “I still have nightmares, I barely go out because I don’t want to deal with the press and their questions and every time a stranger looks at me, my heart skips a beat. It’s been over two weeks since the... thing... on set and today was the first time I dared to look at that statue without an entire film crew present. Marjorie says it’s all part of it – the healing process or whatever – but I just keep thinking it shouldn’t take so long. In the end, all he did was trap me in a basement for two days. I’ve had shoots more triggering than that.”

It takes some effort not to snap at her for being so damn hard on herself. “You really haven’t,” he points out instead and hopes she can’t hear the frustration lining his voice. “A shoot has forty people present, directions, a script and somebody who yells ‘cut’ at the end.”

“Still—“

“Come here.”

“What?”

Sitting up straighter, he makes room for her on the small sofa and smiles at the surprise written on her face. “Come here,” he repeats gently. “I have decided you’re too hard on yourself and what you need is a good cuddle. So come here.”

Alex laughs at him, her voice just a little too shrill and bright, and she shakes her head – curls flying every which way. But he can see in her eyes that she’s not as amused by his offer as she pretends to be.

Determined, Matt gets up and strides over to her. She looks at his offered hand as if it might bite her. He’ll look pretty damn stupid if she doesn’t take him up on his offer and just when he starts to consider that she won’t, she tentatively puts her hand in his. Her hand is a good bit smaller than his, the skin soft and warm against his own.

His heart does a little dance as she unfolds her legs and rises. Before he can think too much on having her in his arms, he pulls her close. One of his hands comes to rest on the small of her back and the other between her shoulder blades. Alex is tense and keeps her hands at her sides for long moments before giving in.

Finally the tension drains from her with a soft sigh and suddenly it’s like he’s been made for this – custom made to hug Alex Kingston – because her arms snake around his waist and she buries her face in the crook of his neck and everything slots together perfectly.

She is warm and soft and her curls brush his cheek and nose. The scent of her shampoo envelops him. Nothing has ever felt or smelled better. It’s funny how you can think you’re as happy as you can possibly be and then find out that something simple can make you so much happier.

He can be patient. He can take not seeing her for months, not being able to tell her how he feels yet as long as he believes that eventually she’ll be back in his arms because this, this is worth _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the next chapter all written out and edited ages ago. Then madness overcame me yesterday (I blame the heat). I deleted the whole thing and then this happened...
> 
> It's not been edited or proofread, so apologies in advance for any errors. I just didn't want to miss the self-imposed deadline. Hope you enjoy!

 

“So, how did it go?” Alex frames the question as neutrally as she can manage, only briefly glancing down at her daughter. They’re walking hand-in-hand through the almost deserted Canal Park, looking for the perfect spot for a picnic.

Salome tugs her off the trail towards a particularly large weeping willow. “Addie said I didn’t have to talk to you about it.”

There is no trace of anything but facts in Salome’s voice and the girl shrugs her shoulders as if she doesn’t get what the big deal is. It’s a good thing and Alex knows she should be patient and trust her daughter. And she does.

There are no perfect children, bit Salome has certainly made an effort to disprove that. She’s smart and polite, empathic and helpful. Yes she can have terrible, properly scary fits every once in a great while. But on the whole, her daughter is pretty damn close to perfection, considering her mother is too often an ocean away and her family is split across three different countries at any given time.

The familiar guilt creeps up on Alex again. What if she’s done everything wrong? It terrifies her that when Salome gets older she might come to resent her mother for being away so often.

There were so many reasons for Alex to keep working despite how badly she wanted to be a mum, but what do money and security and a future mean to a child when juxtaposed with _my mum wasn’t there for me_. If Florian had been making anywhere near enough to support them... but it’s pointless to think about the could’ve been’s.

“You don’t have to,” she agrees reluctantly. “But if you want to, you can.”

Salome breaks free to inspect the grass around them for god-knows-what and Alex suddenly feels bereft. _Get it together, crazy person_.

“You can talk to me about anything Süssling. I love you no matter what. _Immer und Ständing_.”

Plonking herself down, Salome laughs brightly. “I know that, silly. What sandwiches did you bring?”

Something loosens in Alex’s chest at her daughter’s focus on lunch. She hands over her shoulder bag and while Sal digs through its contents, Alex carefully lowers herself down onto the grass. It’s a bit tricky with only one available arm and her ribs aren’t entirely forgiving about the whole affair, but it’s worth it.

It’s a midday in late June, the sky is blue and the sun bright, one of those rare days in the Mother Country that is pleasantly warm. The park is almost shockingly green, as if all the plants and trees are making up for a winter that lasted far too long, even by English standards. And though Cardiff is by no means a farm town, there’s a freshness to the air that L.A. severely lacks.

Sal has been back with her for a week and a half, having flown over just in time to witness Amy and Rory’s the final scenes, much to the teenager’s delight and remorse. Overall her little girl seems happy enough and other than being a little more clingy than usual, Alex hasn’t noticed anything disturbing besides the nightmares.

And if she allows Salome to dramatize those a little and sleep in her mother’s bed, well, it might help her as much as it helps Sal. After talking it over with Marjorie, she’s taken Salome to see a children’s psychologist, just to make sure she isn’t missing any warning signs.

She accepts the cheese and cucumber sandwich Salome holds out to her, pleased to see her daughter still favouring leberwurst and cucumber. There have been too many occasions on which Sal switched favourite foods in her mother’s absence. It also appears Florian isn’t any more successful in teaching their daughter table manners than Alex is. She’s quite sure Salome barely chews and crumbs fly everywhere.

Unable to let the earlier subject go, Alex tries a different tactic. “Would you like to talk to Ms. McCormack again?”

Salome peers at her over a half-eaten sandwich. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Of course I don’t,” she quickly assures. “But sometimes it’s nice to just talk, isn’t it?”

“Do you talk to Addie, mom?”

“No. No, not to Ms. McCormack, but to someone like her, yes.” Slightly flustered, she looks over to find her daughter studying her with entirely too much wisdom in her eyes.

Voice perfectly neutral Salome asks, “are you crazy?”

Caught by surprise, Alex can only deflect. “Do you think I am?”

“No,” Sal decides after thinking on it for a bit – not quite reassuring truth to be told. “I mean, sometimes you are, but it usually only shows in your sense of fashion.”

“Oh, I resent that young lady!”

“Not as much as I do,” comes the muttered reply.

“That’s it, you’re in trouble now, my sweet.”

Ignoring her protesting ribs and back, Alex lunges for her daughter and tickles her best she can with her good hand. Before long Salome is squealing with laughter, the shrill sound both immensely beautiful but also somewhat painful to Alex’s ears. “Mom! Stop! Please, ich ergebe mich! _Bitte_!”

“Are you scared?” They’re both lying on their backs, gazing up at the long, sweeping branches of the willow tree. Alex still hasn’t quite caught her breath when her daughter quietly brings up the question.

Her first instinct is to lie. “Sometimes, yes.”

“Is that why you talk to not-Addie?”

“That and a few other things.”

“Like what that man did to you?”

Not daring herself to speak, Alex nods. She isn’t sure how much further she should allow this line of questioning to go. Her Counsellor had urged her to be truthful and factual about the subject and the children’s psychologist Salome had spoken to this morning, had told her her daughter is approaching the changes in her life with a soberness that is admirable and deserves to be met with openness and respect. But still Alex worries. It’s one thing to be honest with a child, another entirely to burden or worry it and the line in between is awfully thin.

“And daddy getting married again?”

“That too.”

“Okay. Mom?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do you talk about me too?”

Her heart drops.

Scrabbling upright, Alex buys herself time until she’s sitting Indian-style on the grass and Salome has mirrored her position so that they’re facing each other.

“Listen to me carefully, Süssling. Yes, I talk about you too, because I miss you terribly – horrifically – more than a fish misses water or a dog misses a bone. And also because I worry. I know that what happened to me must have scared you too and now your dad is getting married and you’ll be getting a step-mum and after the summer you’ll be going to a new school. Those are all big things and big things can be really scary and confusing and sometimes I worry I’m not doing a good job of protecting you and helping you. Being your mom is the best and most important thing I’ll ever do and I want to do it right. But let me tell you something else...”

She waits until Salome looks up at her again, then affectionately bops her on the nose.

“The things I talk about, they make me a little sad, so I talk about you because you always make me happy. Even when I’m an ocean away or when you’re making fun of my clothes.”

Salome studies her with those wise and serious eyes. “Mom, you must be crazy. You’re crying.”

Alex wipes her hand across her cheek to find that yes, she is indeed crying. “I think you’d better give your old mum a hug then, don’t you?” She hasn’t even finished the sentence before her arms are full of teenager.

A teenager however is still a teenager and Salome breaks the hug much too soon for Alex’s liking. Snatching another sandwich on the way back, her little girl sits back and stares up at the blue sky. “Are Karen and Arthur like a couple now?”

Masking her surprise, Alex fishes for a sandwich of her own. “Why do you ask?”

“’Cos they’re holding hands and kissing now and they didn’t do that before.”

“Well, then I guess they are.” The look of distaste that crosses her daughter’s features reminds her than while Sal is growing up much too quickly, she isn’t grown up yet and it makes her breathe a little easier.

“Is that why Arthur isn’t going out with you anymore?”

It’s good thing she’s an actress. “Going out with- What are you talking about?”

Salome shrugs and politely finishes chewing before she answers. “He always takes us to see a movie. And he takes you to see boring plays, doesn’t he?”

“Well yes, but...”

“You always tell me about the plays. I don’t really care, but you like them, so I listen.”

“Thank you, I think.” But Salome doesn’t return her awkward smile. In fact, she shifts uncomfortably on the grass and carefully avoids her mother’s eyes. Alex’s heart breaks for her little girl. “Süssling, what are you thinking?”

“Nothing, mum.”

Patience is a virtue and damn near the hardest thing to practise when your daughter is clearly troubled by something, but prodding won’t help and with Salome especially silence has always been a very effective method of torture.

Sure enough, she only lasts two minutes before crumbling. “I just thought maybe he liked you.”

“Oh sweetie, he does. As a friend.”

“Right.”

“Salome, you know that. What’s this really about?”

This time, the silence lasts nearly five minutes – although to Alex it feels much, much longer. There’s an uncomfortable ball of nerves in the pit of her stomach. This isn’t like Salome at all. “It’s just... will you get married again?”

She gapes a second before catching herself. “I haven’t really thought about it.” Which a lie of course. Of course she’s thought about it. There’s no one now and there hasn’t really been anyone since her separation, but after two failed marriages she honestly isn’t all that charmed by the thought of a third – fanciful as it may be at this point in time.

And then the heart of the matter finally reveals itself. “I don’t want you to be alone, mum.”

Alex swallows down the lump in her throat. “I’m not alone, am I Süssling? You and me, always and evermore. Or at least until you get married and make babies of your own.”

Salome pulls a face. “Babies are gross!”

“Yes,” Alex agrees with a smile and pulls her daughter back into her arms. “Totally gross. But totally worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you guys how much your kudos and comments mean. Thank you, truly


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idek guys, but I've been posting this thing for six months (ACK!) and I figured it was time for something light-hearted :)

 

Yes, her daughter is a beautiful, fun and clever girl. It’s glaringly obvious to anyone who exchanges half a sentence with her that Salome is well-spoken and polite. Her big, brown eyes and wide, toothy smile are pretty much guaranteed to wind everyone she meets around her little finger.

This is probably exactly why most people would never think this sweet, beautiful little girl has a dark side to her.

Alex would reprimand her for it, if it wasn’t so entertaining.

====

“Do you think he’s given her all the spoilers again?” Matt glares in Alex’s direction from his spot at the Ponds’ kitchen table. Next to him Arthur is studying the edited script for the third mini-sode.

Across from both men, Karen deems his question interesting enough to abandon her lines for a moment. “Do you know yet if she’s coming back?”

“Just for one episode.”

“You’re running out of time, mate. Tell us again why you haven’t told her how you feel yet?”

Swivelling his head around, he directs his glare at Arthur. But his co-star is impervious on account of not looking up from the script. “I can’t just _tell_ her, especially not after everything that’s happened. I had a plan.”

“You also had time. Now you don’t. Improvise.”

“Gee, such clever advice Moonhead.” Karen rolls her eyes at him and with those big saucers of her, it’s really quite effective. “Anyway, she needs friends right now and if I tell her, she’ll just think I’m being nice to get into her pants.”

“Well, you are. But considering you’re also head-over-heels, love-you-forever in love with her, that’s okay.”

“I have a sword,” Arthur injects dryly. “Just sayin’”

Karen nods. “And at least this time we don’t have to sit around and watch you mope. I feel bad for Jenna already.”

There’s a rude retort on the tip of his tongue Matt swallows just in time because a little person suddenly pops up next to Karen. Without preamble, Salome clambers onto the free chair, drawing all their attention. “Hi Sal.”

“Hi!”

“Did you and your mom have a good time yesterday?”

Salome nods enthusiastically, dark curls flying every which way. He glances back at Alex, who is now watching them with an odd – slightly disconcerting – little grin. Clearly meeting with the child psychologist yesterday has had somewhat of a calming effect on his co-star, he can see it in the set of her shoulders and the lines around her eyes. “We had a picnic,” Salome enthuses, “and look!” With a dramatic flair she swings her feet up onto the table. Garishly multicoloured sneakers peak out from under her jeans.

He’s still trying to adjust his eyes when Karen makes a big show of inspecting the new footwear. “Nice wheels, Sal!”

“I know, right? Olivia is going to be _so_ jealous.”

“I bet. Did you come over to make us jealous too? ‘Cos it’s working, I tell ya.”

“No, Silly.” She sobers suddenly and shyly looks at them from under thick lashes. “I actually have a question for Arthur.”

That is finally enough to drag him from his script. “Fire away.”

“Have you been stringing my mom along?”

Of all the things... it takes Matt a second to overcome his own shock and steal a glance at his co-star. Arthur is gaping at Salome, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times without making a sound until, finally, he manages a strangled “sorry?”

Salome leans forward on her elbows a bit and gesticulates wildly with her hands, while explaining in a calm and business-like tone “because you’re always taking her out to dinners and plays and those are like dates, right? But now you’re dating Karen, because I saw you holding her hand and kissing and that means you’re dating, right?” She looks at Arthur expectantly and her brown eyes are so earnest Matt thanks whatever deity is listening that it’s not him on the other end of this conversation.

Darvill for his part is starting to turn a nice shade of red and looks at his girlfriend for help. Of course Karen is too occupied by keeping her laughter in to offer any. Matt shakes his head emphatically when he becomes the go-to-guy. _You’re on your own, mate_.

“Okay. Well... yes... those could be – like dates, I guess. But Sal, your mom and I are just friends.”

The teenager narrows her eyes. “Does she _know_ that?”

“Yes, yes. Of course. I’m sure... I think.”

At this point, both Matt and Karen are past their initial mortification and are working very hard not to burst out in laughter at Arthur’s predicament. He should probably see if he can fish his iPhone out of his pocket and tape this for posterity. Alex would get a kick out of it too.

With that thought his heart suddenly skips a beat. Surely Alex doesn’t really think of Arthur that way? But then, if she doesn’t, why would Salome think otherwise? Or perhaps Salome just really likes Arthur... more than she likes him anyway. _Shit_. Suddenly nervous, Matt glances back over to Alex and finds her watching them with an unreadable expression on her face. Shit, shit, _shit_.

“Is my mom not pretty enough?”

“No, no, of course she is. Your mom is beautiful.”

“Too old?”

Arthur looks ready to bolt and leave a cartoon-shaped impression of himself in the wall. He’s fidgeting nervously, legs bumping into Matt’s and probably Karen’s as well under the table. “Now you’re speaking nonsense.”

“My dad says mom is high maintenance. Is that why?”

Matt’s head shoots up, Arthur simply shakes his. What is Florian doing talking about Alex like that?

“Why won’t you date her then, Arthur? Is it... is it because of me?”

And just like that there’s nothing to laugh about anymore. Salome is looking at Arthur with shimmering eyes and she’s biting on her bottom lip like Alex always does when she’s struggling with something. Arthur swallows hard. “Definitely not. You’re brilliant, Sal. My favourite teenager in the whole of the Kingdom. But your mom and I, we’re friends yeah? Like me and Matt. Mates.”

“But my mum is not a bloke!”

“I didn’t mean...” There’s a quiet desperation in Arthur’s eyes now and Matt feels truly awful for his friend, but how do they end this interrogation? He looks back at Alex, begging her quietly to please come over. Miraculously, she seems to get his unspoken message and treks over to them.

Salome sniffles softly and in a very small voice delivers the final blow. “I just thought... you’d make a really great step-dad, Arthur.”

Like him, Karen appears to be holding her breath, making only a high-pitched noise of sympathy. Poor Arthur stammers, grappling for something to say and God, Matt is so immeasurably relieved it’s not him, because what can you possibly say to a confession like that?

“Süssling, are you behaving yourself?” If possible, Arthur turns even redder as Alex breaks the awkward silence and he sinks lower into his chair. “Are you quite all right, Arthur? You look—“

“Fine! I’m fine! Really, perfectly fine.”

Salome looks at him a second longer and then turns to look up at her mother with a cheerful grin. Without warning, she bursts out in high-shrieked laughter. “Oh mom! _Sie sollten das gesehen haben_! It was brilliant!” The whole table shakes with Salome’s excited shimmy. “Look how red he is!”

Matt gapes at her, and catches Arthur doing the same. His eyes all but bulge out of their sockets as he looks between the Kingston girls. “But, you... I thought... but, **_what_**?”

Almost Alex manages to look apologetic. “Wasn’t my idea,” she defends with a smirk.

“You faked all that?”

Sobering, Salome shakes her head. “No, I acted.”

“You... that was...”

“Brilliant,” Karen cuts in, merrily laughing at her boyfriend’s expense.

Running his hands through his hair, Arthur heaves a sigh of defeat. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“You promised to take us to a movie.”

“And you couldn’t have just reminded me?”

Salome tilts her head and gives a little smirk exactly like her mother’s. “Of course,” she admits cheerfully,  “but where’s the fun in that?” And her impression is so perfectly River Song/Alex that Matt finally looses the battle against humour too and breaks down in laughter.

Never a sore loser, Arthur joins in, but not after muttering _devil’s_ _spawn_ under his breath. “You’re going to be a brilliant actress, just like your mum,” he gracefully compliments after catching his breath.

“I don’t want to be an actress.”

Alex looks down at her daughter with mild curiosity. “Oh?”

“I want to be a Doctor.”

Brilliant. He always loves it when kids say they want to be like The Doctor or travel with him, it’s really the best possible compliment. “Ha. Like me, right?”

But Salome cuts him down too. “No, I want to be a real Doctor. Like mum on ER.” And even he can tell this is not the wistful thinking of a child, because he had that same tone, that same expression when he announced to his parents that he was going to be a professional footie player. No, this is a proper career decision.  

Looking at Alex, she’s clearly heard it too. She’s looking down at her daughter with an expression of awe and wonder, happy tears shimmering in her eyes.

Oblivious to her mom, Salome turns her attention towards Matt. “ _Anyway_ , I want to see _Brave_ and Arthur is taking Karen on a date tonight, so you should take us, Matty.”

“Sal!”

“What? He doesn’t have a girlfriend. Do you, Matty?”

“No, I do not.” He avoids Alex’s eyes, inwardly jumping at the chance Salome is giving him. “And I’d love to take you both.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am, Kingston. As long as you both promise to never do to me what you just did to Arthur.”

Salome pouts at him sympathetically. “Oh Matty, mum says never make a promise you can’t keep. Pick us up at six-thirty?”

Bewildered he watches the teenager walk away.

Alex bites back a smile. “I don’t know where she gets it from,” she says with faux-innocence and takes off too.

The three of them are left at the table in the middle of the Ponds’ kitchen, each slightly amused, bewildered and shocked. Arthur chuckles, then slaps Matt’s shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six months! Thank you so much for sticking with me, commenting and leaving kudos all that time. I'm sure I would've given up before now if it hadn't been for all the support. Thank you!
> 
> And don't worry, we'll return to angst and drama next week...


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, almost didn't get this out in time. There's a little surprise at the end, hope you enjoy!

The movie was brilliant.

Well, the movie was surprisingly good, but taking Alex and Salome to see it was brilliant. There had been a ridiculous amount of popcorn and fizzy drinks and Salome had sat herself in between them, headless of the looks they were getting.

And despite the recognition, Alex had relaxed and – for as far as Matt could tell – enjoyed herself.

He certainly had.

Since that night he’d come up with all sorts of other non-dates in any variety of company; swimming with Salome and Arthur, dinner with Alex, Karen, Arthur, Steven and Sue, trekking along the river with Alex and Salome, picnic with Alex and Salome, pub with Arthur while Alex, Karen and Salome went shopping.

And sure, the press caught on. Alex post-incident hadn’t given any interviews or even been spotted out and about much, so it was hardly a surprise that articles and pictures started popping up as soon as she started going out more.

At least the continually changing make up of company, left them guessing.

There is of course nothing to guess, Matt reminds himself firmly.

Today him and Arthur had taken Salome to the park for some footie and brought the teenager back nearly exhausted. After a disapproving look at the state of their clothes, Alex had ushered them inside and sent Salome for a shower.

Arthur had begged off dinner to spend some time with Karen, but Matt had readily accepted the invitation.

He knew Alex had used the afternoon to settle some last-minute changes in her schedule and go for medical check-ups. Her arm was still in the sling and every once in a while, he caught her winching when bending over or sitting down, but all her bruises had been gone for a while and she’d stopped covering up the long cut along her collar-bone. By now it was hardly visible anymore unless you knew where to look.

Ever since Salome’s arrival she’d also been much happier, but the minute they got back today he noticed her smile wasn’t quite as bright.

Despite her exhaustion, Salome enthusiastically regaled the tales of their day in the park in between mouthfuls of a simple green salad with fresh bread.

Matt greedily took the chance to observe Alex. She usually had a sixth sense about being watched, but tonight her daughter soaked up every last morsel of her mother’s attention and with her hair up in a messy pony tail he has an unrestricted view.

Now, while Alex is putting her daughter to bed, Matt quickly clears off the kitchen table and pours himself and his host a glass of chilled white wine. Hiding in the far corner of one of the cabinets, he finds a packet of peanuts and a chocolate bar. By the time Alex returns, both are proudly displayed on the salon table and he’s made himself comfortable on the sofa.

With a grateful murmur, Alex takes her glass of wine and curls up in the monstrous loveseat. “Bless you for keeping up with her.”

“She’s brilliant and really, it’s not so much the physical stuff as it is the questions – Lord, she never stops, does she?”

Alex smirks. “Not as far as I know.”

“That thing with Arthur... was it all a sham or did she really think...?” He’s pretty sure he’s managed to keep any kind of jealousy out of his voice, but Alex still throws him a considering look.

“She’s twelve and her dad is getting remarried.” Her mouth twists into a sad little smile. “She worries I’ll be alone.”

“You won’t be,” Matt blurts instantly.

“I’m not. I may not have a boyfriend – and I’m nearly fifty, that sounds ridiculous – a significant other or whatever you want to call it – _him_ , I suppose, but I have a wonderful family, a wise-ass daughter and good friends. I’m not alone.”

“But is it enough?”

She rolls her eyes. “You sound just like Salome. Next thing I know you’ll want to know if I’ll get married again.”

“Will you?”

“I don’t know, Matt. It’s hardly something I need to think about at the moment.”

He blinks at the tired and frustrated undertone. “I suppose. That can’t have been a fun conversation to have with Salome.”

“Oh, ever since she came home, eight-years-old and in tears asking me to tell her I hadn’t really married Voldemort...” she shakes her head with a fond but sad smile. “This one is not even in the top five of awkward conversations.”

He chuckles helplessly. “I can imagine. What did you tell her?”

And just like that the hatches come down and she answers in clipped tones. “The truth. She wouldn’t talk to me for three days.”

He makes – what he hopes is – a noise of sympathy, at loss for words. Alex rarely speaks of her first marriage and he’s never been able to figure out if that is because it still hurts her or if she just wants to let sleeping dogs lie. Either way, he can’t imagine how to explain something like that to an eight-year-old, especially not knowing how big of a Harry Potter-fan Salome still is.

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence and he runs through the conversation in his head. He’s in love with her, definitely, but he hasn’t allowed himself to really think about a future _with_ her. For a while there, her death had been an all-too-real possibility. It still is of course. She could be run over by a bus tomorrow or he could trip, fall down the stairs and break his neck. Hell, the gas pipe in her kitchen could explode and kill them both.

It’s a testament of how hard he’s fallen that the last scenario is definitely more preferable than the first.

Would he want to get married? Sure, he always assumed he would, it’s what people do isn’t it? Put a ring on it. But even if he finds the courage to tell her, it’s no guarantee they’ll ever get to a point where marriage is a logical step. He’s enough of a romantic to believe that they’d be brilliant together, but he’s also not naive enough to blind himself to pitfalls and roadblocks.

His relationship with Daisy Lowe certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing despite its casual nature. After thirty years, he’s developed idiosyncrasies someone else might find annoying and after nearly fifty years, Alex is bound to have some of her own.

Right, thinking like this isn’t going to get him anywhere and by now the silence has dragged for so long there’s no good way to break it. So, Matt excuses himself and quickly ducks into the tiny loo.

“What about you?” Alex wants to know when he steps back into the living room. “How come you’re not dating? Strappy young fellow like yourself.”

He pretends to be wounded at her mocking tone and for a split second decides to blurt it all out, lay his heart at her feet and let her stomp on it if she so chooses. “How do you know I’m not seeing someone?” Is what comes out of his mouth instead.

“You wouldn’t be hanging around me so much if you were, darling.”

And oh, she is so _wrong_. He studies her face, because he’s not ever going to get a better opening, is he? The corners of her mouth are tugged up into a teasing smile, but she won’t quite look at him, eyes on her fiddling fingers instead as if suddenly she’s worried about what he might say. “Perhaps she can’t stand me for longer stretches of time.”

“And I can?”

“You seem to be holding up admirably.”

She smiles a bit brighter at that. “Took some practice. But really, no one at all?”

Self-conscious, he tugs his fingers through his hair and lies through his teeth. “Nope. It’s just... things with Daise were fun, but not real y’know? And rather a bit of work for ‘just fun’, in hindsight.”

“Did you love her?”

The question takes him by surprise, as much as her carefully neutral tone. “The idea of her, I think.”

“And now?”

What is this? If he didn’t know any better he’d think she’s fishing, but he’s been around her often and long enough to have witnessed firsthand her brutal honesty on these matters. “Now, I guess I’m just enjoying my work and friends. I don’t mind being single, it’s nice to be able to do whatever, whenever I want.”

She smirks at him. “And whoever.”

“Oi, rude, Kingston!”

Her gentle laugh does little to help against the blush rising on his cheeks. Yes, she knew. She’d met a few of his – ah – companions after, due to her habit of doing laundry at ridiculous hours. Of course those girls had fawned all over Alex, chattering excitedly about ER and George Clooney and Lost in Austen, completely oblivious to how much he wished for the ground to open up and swallow him.

The third time it happened, he’d been sure Alex was going to give him the ‘you’re an adult – act like one’ speech. She never had though, never made fun of his new-found _player_ -status either. Unlike Kazza, who had no qualms about doing so in front of the women (girls) in question, or in front of Steven or any of the producers. “I guess I went through a bit of a phase.”

Alex chuckles good-naturedly at the awkward confession. “It’s all part of the deal, I think, darling.”

“Is that so? What about yourself then Miss Kingston? Have you ever played the field?”

“Not me so much, no.”

He nearly trips over his own tongue to erase the look of tightly controlled hurt on her face, but comes up short. Stupid, _stupid_ Matt. “I didn’t mean...”

Alex waves her hand dismissively, but the mood is broken. Not ten minutes later they’re in the hall wrapping up a discussion about whether or not Alex is well enough to fly.

Apparently her Doctors are on the fence, though she doesn’t really explain why. He’d ask, where it not for his faux-pas earlier. As it is, Alex appears much more troubled by possibly not being able to fly back to the States with Salome than the actual medical cause.

“It’s horrible,” she admits quietly, “but part of me is relieved. Wasn’t looking forward to the run-up to the wedding much.”

“I can imagine.”

Her eyes flash at his soft spoken sympathy. “Sal needs me there.”

“And you need to heal. She needs you healthy more than she needs you there.”

She blinks at him and searches his face, eyes blue in the old light of the narrow hall. By now quite a few of those stubborn curls of hers have escaped the scrunchie and are framing her tired features.  “When did you get so wise?”

Words get stuck in his throat for a second because it almost looks as if his earlier transgression is forgotten. She certainly makes a solid effort at acting like it is, but Matt has studied her for ages, paid very close attention to her expressions and moods and he see the wariness lingering in her eyes. Bolstering himself against her disappointment, he grins widely. “Common sense, Kingston.”

“Something I appear to be lacking in lately. Thank you for the company, Matt.”

It feels like a dismissal – and is. He’ll probably never figure out what possesses him. Maybe it’s the panic that he might have ruined any chance he had with that careless remark – or the realization right in this moment, as she reaches around him for the door handle, that every topic she’d broached tonight had one common theme. It’s in her eyes now; self-doubt and it kills him.

It kills him because she’s Alex Kingston and that look should never mar those beautifully expressive eyes. He’s seen her fight back after that horrific weekend. Nothing, _no_ _one_ should ever make her doubt herself.

So he does something stupidly spontaneous.

He kisses her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your enthusiasm for the previous chapter. I really wasn't sure about the whole comedy-angle, but if you're happy then so am I :) You're all wonderful!


	29. Chapter 29

 

He kisses her.

Oh God, he is _kisses_ Alex Kingston.

Because he’s terrified he’ll never get another chance. Because he doesn’t know what else to do. Because he’s wanted nothing more than he’s wanted this.

It’s chaste compared to his fantasies, just a sweet press of his mouth against hers. Her lips are slightly parted and before he quite catches himself, his tongue darts out. His heart stops, her warmth and scent wrap around him and her hair tickles against his shoulder and collarbone and he can taste the waxy lip balm she’s wearing and it’s over far, _far_ too soon.

But he is the one to pull away, almost immediately. Alex doesn’t pull back or fall into the kiss; she freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. It takes a moment for his overwhelmed brain to realize that she’s gone stiff as a board, but when it does, he pulls back instantly.

A rather significant part of Matt feels like running right now, because if he hadn’t screwed up earlier, he certainly has now. But he’s a grown-up and Alex deserves a lot more than a kiss-and-run. God, she’s going to hate him.

When he dares to meet her eyes he is a little surprised (and a lot relieved) to find mostly shock and confusion on her features, rather than the anger he’d been half expecting.

Her eyes fall back to his mouth and then lift up to his eyes again. A strangled noise leaves her throat.

It’s enough to finally get his mouth working again even though his brain is still caught somewhere between _kissing Alex Kingston_ and _oh God, she’ll never talk to me again_. “Shit, Alex—“

“Matt,” she takes a step back and it is as efficient as stomping on his heart. Her voice breaks. “I can’t.”

“I know. I didn’t mean...” But he did, didn’t he? He did mean to kiss her. Just not now, not yet and he hopes beyond hope that she’ll understand he is only apologizing for his timing. “Alex, I’m sorry.”

Finally she takes a breath. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have, no like that. Alex, I—“

She purses her mouth, bravely holding his gaze. The predominant emotion in her eyes is still shock as if she can’t quite process what he’s just done, but her actual expression is utterly blank. The shock will fade and then what? Will he be met with anger or perhaps, hopefully, consideration? She interrupts his words and thoughts with a sharp wave of her hand. “Matt, I can’t do this. Not now, not...”

“Yeah. I’ll just...” he jerks his head to the door, moves to kiss her cheek but then thinks better of it because, well, stupid Matt.

Alex nods rigidly. “Yeah. Good night.”

His feet are made of led when he drags himself out into the shared hall and back to his own apartment. He barely sleeps that night, haunted by the waxy feel of her lips against his and that haunting blank look on her face. How is he going to fix this?

The next morning Matt is a ball off jittery nerves. It’s the middle of Team Tardis’ very last week and honestly, none of them need to be here anymore. Steven, Beth and Piers have identified their lack of plans for what it is; a reluctance to move on just yet and have come up with a series of nearly useless assignments. Voice-overs, promo-shots, fixing continuity-errors that escaped notice before and on-set interviews are all building up to a private screening of a roughly edited The Angels Take Manhattan on Friday. It’s just delaying the inevitable, but he’s grateful nonetheless.

Not in the least because it gives him three days to make-up for last night’s blunder and work to restore his friendship with Alex. Provided she’ll be allowed to fly, Alex will fly back to the States on Sunday so all in all he has four days and a bit to redeem himself.

Imagine his surprise when Alex greets him breezily with a customary kiss on his cheek. The simple, familiar gesture leaves him gaping after her.

“Right then. Not what I expected,” he mumbles to himself. It throws him enough to make him let go of his plan.

He makes sure not to avoid her but it’s doing his head in. Alex is acting perfectly normal. She flirts with him, laughs when he stumbles and enthuses with Karen and Arthur about their upcoming plans. What is she thinking? Does this mean he has a chance? Surely if she were repulsed by the idea she wouldn’t behave so normal, would she?

Or is she just so not into him that the kiss doesn’t bother her one bit? A non-issue. Something to not consider or try again.

After watching her pose for the Melody Malone cover he can’t hack it anymore. “Can we talk?”

She studies him for a bit before agreeing with a small nod. “My trailer in half an hour?”

Despite the turmoil in his head, he watches her take off in direction of wardrobe until she’s out of sight. The brown trench coat though taken in at her waist, isn’t particularly flattering, but it accentuates the suggestion of curves, flirting with the slimness of her waist and her perfect bum and he really, _really_ should not be staring at her right now.

What he should be doing is come up with a new plan. Find a way to put last night in the correct context. Which isn’t going to be easy, considering what a convoluted mess of friendship, love and lust the context is. Never mind all those surprisingly strong emotions that her kidnapping and its aftermath sparked.

When he knocks on her trailer door twenty-eight minutes later he is no closer to a coherent plan.

Alex greets him in flaring white trousers, a slow-slung belt and a multi-coloured blouse. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail. Today is apparently a hippie-day, Matt grins.

“Tea?”

“Please.”

Comfortable silence reigns while she awkwardly pours, the lack of a second hand showing in the way the tea pot shakes in her hand. He makes himself as comfortable as possible on the tiny, worn-down sofa and fights against the urge to help her. Again he is struck by how not awkward she is. She meets his eyes easily enough and her smiles are genuine. At least he thinks so. Talented as she is, she could probably fool him if she really wanted to. But maybe what happened is a problem only in his head.

For a few moments he hides in his tea cup, studying the swirl of the darkened water. “I wanted to talk to you about last night,” he says at length. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that and I don’t want to mess things up between us. Your friendship is important to me.”

When he dares to look at her, he finds her smiling kindly, her blue-green eyes without reproach. “It is important to me too, darling and you’ve been a great friend, especially the last few months.”

Acutely aware of what she means and the small twist of her lips that indicates she’s troubled, Matt can’t help but fidget. He’s been a friend to her, yes, but for the most part he’s felt so useless. “It’s the least I could do, really.”

“It really isn’t,” Alex corrects firmly, “and I appreciate it greatly. Thank you.”

Blushing now because of what she’s saying, but very much because of how she’s saying it; her voice soft and almost reverent and _God_ does the woman not hear herself? “I still should not have jumped it on you.”

“Darling, it’s fine, truly. These things happen.”

“Really? People just plant one on you without warning?”

Alex shrugs, squirming under his gaze but winking at the same time and suddenly if feels like he can breathe again. “Let’s just say you’re not the first.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be, would I? I mean, just look at you, Kingston.”

“Flatterer.”

“It’s your fault for being so _you_.” He’s grinning when he says it, teasing. Unexpectedly something dark flickers in her eyes, but it’s gone so quickly he must have imagined it. “Still,” he hastens, “I shouldn’t have.”

She nods. “Apology accepted, darling. Now, not to change the subject or anything, but if you don’t have plans on Saturday, I’m holding a small farewell-dinner. Just Team Tardis and Steven and his family. So if you don’t have anythin--”

“I’d love to.” Oi, he really could not have sounded more eager and by the look of fond surprise in Alex’s eyes, she noticed too.

“Excellent. Saturday five o’clock, then.”

Recognizing the subtle end of their conversation, Matt rises from his seat. “I’ll be there.” He crosses over to her and bends down to brush his lips against her cheek.

Alex gives an appreciative hum and reaches up with her good hand to pat his jaw. “See you tomorrow, Matt.”

“Bright and early,” he confirms and opens the trailer door to the chilled evening air.

Just before he steps through it however, Alex calls for him.

When he turns to look at her again, she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek and watching him with guarded eyes, her arm draped over the back of her chair. “Why did you?”

“Sorry?”

She takes a deep breath, screwing up courage, then quietly asks “why did you kiss me? Why come to the airport, or the hospital?”

For a moment his heart stops beating and then suddenly thunders a rapid tattoo in his chest. What is he to say to that? _Because I’ve wanted nothing – no one – as badly as I want you. Because I’m in love with you. Because your safety and health and happiness are all that matter_.

All true. But then he really looks at her and the curiosity in her eyes is mixed with something too close to trepidation. The truth right now will only scare her away, he realizes with a pang of regret. But he can’t very well lie about it either, can he? She doesn’t deserve that and he doesn’t think he can lie about his feelings for her anymore.

He looks at her, curled up on rickety chair with the bright blouse and wild curls, her eyes shimmering with emotions he cannot begin to name. She’s breathtaking in her uncertainty and the weight of the moment bears down on him.

He cannot tell her the truth, not now and he cannot lie to her, not ever.

In a blessed moment of clarity he knows just what to say. “Are you sure you’re ready for me to answer that?”

Alex blinks, surprised, and holds his gaze for a terrifyingly long moment, her eyes giving nothing away, before pursing her lips and giving him a sad smile. “No.”

Matt nods, both relieved and disappointed. The odd combination of emotions settles underneath his breastbone and he resists the urge to press his fist to his chest. “If you ever are...” he offers hopefully. Thickly.

And Alex, brilliant, beautiful, _stunning_ Alex Kingston throws him a bone. “I know where to find you.”

It feels like a victory somehow. “Good night Alex.”

“’Night Matthew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably not how you guys thought it woud go, sorry. But thank you all so much for taking the time to read and review! Chocolate chip brownies for everyone (virtual ones at least)


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the point where I remind everyone of the warnings up top.
> 
> This is also the point where I apologize profusely.
> 
> Sorry!

Something sharp and cold presses against her collarbone. A dark voice whispers into her ear and then someone is pushing her and God, everything _hurts_. Her heart is pounding in her throat and her head threatens to split apart every time a stab of pain shoots through her.

She stumbles up some sort of stairs in the dark. A strong arm wrapped around her waist the only reason she doesn’t tumble down, but she doesn’t want it there. She doesn’t want to move or hurt like this and she can feel the menacing force behind her, the looming figure whose presence makes her blood boil and adrenaline scream through her veins.

Then suddenly there’s light. Flashing reds and blues and steady beams of yellow. Her head and stomach protest the influx of light and sound too – shouting and mechanical wailing ringing in her ears. She closes her eyes tightly, but it doesn’t help much. _Please make it stop_!

Adrift in a sea of nausea and pain, it’s a sharp, new pain at her collarbone that grounds her in the reality unfolding around her. She can barely stand, but the presence at her back won’t let her fall down no matter how much she wants to curl in on herself and possibly die. She just wants to stop hurting. That’s all.

She stumbles again and the pain at her collarbone flares until she’s crying out.

There’s a loud bang. And another one and suddenly she falls to her knees, bile rising in her throat, forced up by the pain that winds through her body and skull. Something warm and wet is plastered to the side of her face and when she hurls out the contents of her stomach – oesophagus and chest burning – a coppery smell reaches her nostrils and makes her heave again.

A new voice whispers into her ear. It’s okay to open her eyes now. She’s safe, it tells her. Soft and gentle. Small hands help her sit back, mindful not to hurt.

The smell of copper is still there, joined now by a somewhat familiar chemical scent that burns into her nose.

Another set of hands. Another voice. Something is dripping down on her. Is she hurt?

Yes.

Where?

Everywhere.

Alex tries to open her eyes. Only one cooperates. Her knees swim into focus first, alternating blue and red from the flashing lights. Then her hands, bruised and bloodied. Then strands of hair, straightened by something red.

Blood. Fresh blood. Not hers then.

Off to her side, obscured by a woman in uniform, is a prone body. She peaks around the woman to look at the face and oh that’s stupid. She knows that face – those eyes – fears it, even pale and lifeless. Her eye settles on the temple where a big gash has torn away skin and muscle and bone. The sight is garish, terrifying and suddenly she realizes that that’s what she can feel sliding down her face, dripping off her hair.

Bits of Joe.

Alex shoots upright in her bed, wildly trashing to get the restricting covers off her and rush to the bathroom despite her protesting ribs. Bend over the cool porcelain of the toilet, her mind finally clears as she empties her stomach.

A nightmare.

Well, memory really.

She’s fine. Safe. There are no monsters here. She retches again. It’s been a while since she’s had this particular nightmare. So why now?

When she’s quite sure she’s done, she flushes the loo and heaves herself up to rinse her mouth. Wary, bone-deep exhaustion masters her limbs, but she doesn’t dare close her eyes again. Quietly, Alex wraps herself in her bathrobe and pads to the living room. Miraculously Salome has slept through the commotion and she’d like to keep it that way.

Mindless telly will help take her mind off things. Thank the heavens for _24Kitchen_.

The nightmare won’t let her go however, plaguing her with flashes of Joe’s dead face and his blood in her hair and on her face and clothes. It must’ve been triggered by last night’s screening of _The Angels Take Manhattan_. It must have been. She hasn’t seen anything else remotely scary and disturbing. Maybe it was seeing herself hurt that triggered this, or Amy and Rory jumping to their deaths. Or Rory in the cellar.

Who is she kidding? It was probably all of those things.

She’s pleased with the end result though. The episode was creepy and possibly the most thriller-like yet and she’d wisely kept her mouth shut about a few creative inconsistencies. Unlike Matt. But then he always did that during screenings; commenting loudly like an over-excited, critical fan. At least he’d whispered the most damning comments to her like secrets, cleverly avoiding Steven’s wrath.

She remembers the faint taste of him. His troubled eyes regarding her after he broke away from her mouth. Her mind had simply stopped when he’d kissed her. blanked out completely because he was him and she was her and the last time someone had kissed her... well, best not to go there.

And then he’d been so remorseful and yet so _adult_ about the whole thing. She knows now (has known, if she’s honest) there’s something there. It’s in his eyes when he looks at her. She doesn’t know quite what to make of it or how to feel about it. Right now, she isn’t sure she’s capable of feeling anything about it. So she pushes that knowledge down, locks it safely away until her life makes sense again.

She closes her heavy eyes for a moment against her cowardice and is woken up hours later by an excited Salome, because _Mom, everyone is going to be here at five and we have loads of groceries to do and can we get chocolate ice cream? For Mr. Moffat’s kids of course and maybe those special animal crisps? And Matty loves Dr. Pepper as much as I do. Please mummy?_

Three hours later (much to Salome’s vocal displeasure, but Alex had been determined to get at least some of the packing done first) sees them at Tesco’s. Their cart is filling up quickly, which means she’ll probably have to make use of the delivery service as they walked. Alex can’t drive with her arm in the sling and she certainly isn’t ready to take her daughter into a cab.

Trying to decide on what to make for dessert, Alex keeps half an eye on her daughter. Salome is debating the merits of different types of cake decorations with a younger, sandy-haired girl. Both are gazing up at the rows and rows of colourful sweets with twinkling eyes.

Turning back to the various baking goods she keeps the girls in her peripheral sight while going over the pros and cons of _Sachertorte_ in her mind. A sudden presence at her side makes her jump.

There’s a teenage boy staring at her with pale, blue eyes and short cropped hair. He’s looks to be no more than seventeen or eighteen, skinny and a little taller than her. Angry, red pimples are scattered across his cheeks. He’s standing entirely too close for comfort, the overwhelming scent of cologne burning her nostrils. Her surreptitious attempt to back away slightly is thwarted when he follows her.

It’s one of the downsides of the publicity part of her profession. People she’s never met feel they know her well and on occasion forget that not only doesn’t she know them, the image they have of her is fractured, missing crucial pieces she reserves for friends and family.

She feels her well-practiced public persona slip into place as her heart rate settles. “Oh hello.”

“Hi.” He looks her blatantly up and down before raising his eyes up to hers.

Her heart skips a beat at the familiarity. She knows those eyes. How does she know those eyes? She’s never before seen this boy in her life.

“You’re Alex Kingston.”

Her eyes dart over to Salome, still immersed in her sweets. “Yes. Do you want an autograph? I don’t have pen on me, but I’m sure...” she babbles. Why is she babbling?

And then the boy steps even closer, crowding her against the shelves. His blue eyes eerily cold and piercing. He brings his mouth to her ear and for the life of her, Alex can’t move.

When he speaks, there’s a cruel undertone in his voice. Suddenly she knows exactly who he is.

“I don’t want an autograph, Miss Kingston. I just wanted to see the whore who killed my father.”


	31. Chapter 31

Frozen into place, Alex is dimly aware that she’s in a bloody Tesco’s. There are people here! Her breath stutters in her throat and her heart can’t seem to decide whether to beat frantically or just stop all together. It feels as if she hasn’t drawn a breath in ages, a sharp pain radiating from between her collarbones keeping her from screaming her lungs out.

The boy blatantly stares at her breasts while she’s scrambling to pull herself together. A quick glance in her daughter’s direction confirms that at least Salome is blissfully unaware of the situation.

She gulps for air when she finally can, but oh that’s almost worse. With each desperate breath panic fills her. What does she do? _What does she do?_

Okay. Right. Options, Alex. They’re in the back of the store, surely someone will stumble onto them? It’s Saturday for God’s sake. It’s also lunch hour. There’s a camera up ahead, but she can’t tell if they’re in its line of sight and if they are the footage might not be monitored.

Salome and the other girl are a good bit away from them, if she yells for them to run how far will they get before the boy catches up with them? Will anyone interfere?

God knows what he’ll do to her. It makes her throat close up again. “I don’t know what my father saw in you.” The boy cuts through her thoughts. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d do you. And with those movies of yours – you must be quite something in the sack, isn’t that right Miss Kingston?” He chuckles darkly under his breath.

Panic claws at her chest, like wild animal trapped inside her trying to break free. She wants to kick him and run, spit at him and hit him. Show him what she failed to show Joe – that she is not a victim. But she can’t move, frozen by what he might do – what his father had already done.

So far at least the boy is all words and the very last thing she wants is for Salome to become a part of this – to witness her mother trapped and afraid, to possibly become a target too.

She closes her eyes and waits. They’re in a bloody Tesco’s, not in a remote house. He can’t hurt her here. And his words, well, she’s heard similar things before, from people a lot closer to her. Insults she can handle.

He brings his face close to hers and she fights against the fear that wraps itself around her throat when he speaks. “You were going to be our new mommy, imagine that! But then you went ahead and killed him. It wasn’t enough that we lost our mother, we had to lose our father too.”

“I didn’t kill him,” she manages weakly.

“It’s still your fault, fucking whore. And that girl,” his cold fingers curl around her chin and force her to look at the two girls still immersed in their discussion on baking decorations, “has to grow up without a mother or a father. They’re trying to take her away from me too, send her to the fucking other side of the world and if they do...”

There is such hatred in his eyes and voice, Alex can barely think through it. What has she ever done to deserve this? A sharp pinch at her left hip draws her attention back to the boy – Jack, she remembers through the haze of fear. Jack and Sophie Chance. He’s not even an adult yet, only seventeen years old, his sister only nine.

“If they do,” Jack continues after a loaded silence, “I’ll make sure your daughter will be taken away too.” Alex moves before she’s good and well comprehended the threat just made. She flattens her good hand against his chest and shoves. But with only one arm and little space between them, the boy only stumbles. Her knee comes up quickly. The teenager is a it quicker however and sidesteps her assault only just.

A sharp pain flares at side, exploding into a trail of fire curving over her hip. Instinct takes over and she stills completely, only allowing herself a soft whimper. “Don’t hurt her.”

He follows her line of sight to Sal before turning those cold, blue eyes back on her. “Don’t make me. This is a warning, don't piss me off and she’ll be perfectly fine.”

Guilt steals over her when she nods.

“I see it now,” Jack mutters, breath stirring her curls. “God, I bet you’re a fantastic fuck. Dad talked about it, you know. What it would be like to have your mouth wrapped around his cock.”

Alex’s stomach protests the mere notion. Tears sting in her eyes. What is wrong with this boy?

His hand drops from her face to her chest, grabbing her right breast as if he’s picking up an apple at the greens section, “Great tits too.”

“Don’t.” She can’t help it. Disgust crawls under her skin. This is not happening to her. She keeps waiting for someone to interrupt, but even though it’s Saturday, no one ventures into the baking aisle.

Her refusal only makes the boy snarl into her ear. His fingers dig painfully into her chest. A sudden flare of angry defiance steals over her and for a moment Alex’s fear and disgust win out over protecting her child. She jams her foot down on one of Jack’s and attempts to run away as soon as he releases her breast. “Stupid cunt!” He hisses dangerously.

She doesn’t get far however before white-hot pain shoots through her side, drowning out everything for a long moment. A sharp, audible gasp escapes her. Salome’s reaction is almost instantaneous. Her daughter whips her head around, short legs already carrying her closer. “Mom?”

Heart hammering painfully in her chest, Alex is surprised to find Jack backed away. He’s still too close, but he’s not touching her now. In fact, he turns to the two girls with a wide, personable grin on his face. “Hi! You must be Salome. I was just talking to your mom, I’m a big fan of hers.”

Despite wanting to hurl, Alex forces a smile. “I’m fine, Süssling.” Heart pounding, she manoeuvres herself towards the middle of the aisle where she cannot be cornered, ignoring the pain radiating from her side and grabs hold of Sal’s small hand, nudging her daughter behind her.

Her heart breaks when she notices little Sophie staring up at her with wonder-filled eyes. “Oh wow,” the young girl breathes, “you’re River Song. You’re _so_ pretty.”

Alex can feel her smile tremble around the edges. “Thank you, sweetie. You’re very pretty too.”

The girl plucks at her straight locks as if expecting them to curl up any second. She is a beautiful child, fine-boned with large, blue eyes. God knows what will become of her. As much as her heart goes out to the girl, Alex cannot afford to think on it. She needs to get her daughter away from Jack.

“Well,” she says brightly, “we’d best get going. Nice meeting you, Sophie.” She flicks her eyes over to Jack, determined to keep pretending. Her eyes catch sight of a small knife in his hand. The knowledge that he could have seriously hurt her – or worse, Salome – washes over her like a bucket of cold water.

Unwilling to stay in the boy’s presence another second, she drags Salome down the aisle and towards the exit. “Mom! You’re forgetting the cart.”

“Leave it.”

“But the dinner—“

“I said _leave it_ , Sal.” Shit. Her voice cracks.

Salome notices too, quieting instantly and seizing her attempts to break free from Alex’s iron grip. “Mum?”

They brush through the check-out, all but running until they find themselves outside. Finally Alex can breathe. She shuts her eyes for a brief moment, stealing herself against the throbbing pins and needles in her side. When she opens them, she finds her daughter staring at her anxiously.

“Mom? You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine, Süssling.”

Sal narrows her gaze sceptically, but in the next moment is distracted. A booming, familiar voice quickly clarifies why.

“Would you look at that!” Matt Smith exclaims enthusiastically from somewhere behind her. “The Kingston women in the flesh.”

All worries forgotten, Salome launches herself at him. “Matty!”

As soon as her daughter disappears from her sight, Alex feels panic grip her all over again. She whirls around so fast, the world keeps on spinning a moment longer than she does. In a second Karen leaves Matt’s side and joins Alex. “You okay there, little Pond?”

“Fine.”

“She’s not. She just left all our groceries in the store and dragged me out here.”

At Salome’s traitorous words, Matt ducks his head to catch Alex’s eyes. His scrutinizing gaze brings her panic back to the surface. She can’t take his concern and kindness right now. “I just decided I don’t want to cook.” She lies, painfully aware her paper-thin voice is giving her away. “We’ll order pizza and Thai.”

Looking every bit like her grandmother, Salome crosses her arms and fixes her with a steely gaze. “What about the _dying art of home cooking_.”

“We’ll revive it tomorrow. Now, I’d like to go home if that’s okay with everyone.”

Flinching at the tone, the teenager turns to Karen with a huff. She’d feel guilty about it, but Jack is still in the store somewhere. She’s been keeping an eye on the entrance and he hasn’t emerged. Her only priority is to get her daughter out of here before he does.

“Why don’t I take you home,” Matt offers quietly, “and Karen and Salome can finish the shopping.”

“No!”

Taken aback at the sharp exclamation, Matt narrows his eyes. “Alex?”

“We’re going home. _Now_.” Without ceremony she moves over to grab her daughter’s hand and drag her down the parking lot. Sal struggles to get out of her grasp, but there is no way, _no way_ Alex is letting her back in there.

“Mom! _Mutti_ _!_ _Du machst mir Ängstig_ _!_ ”

Tears blur her vision and guilt threatens to overwhelm her because she’s never wanted to frighten her own child. But that doesn’t change the fact they have to get away from here.

Someone grabs her, hand on her hip right where it hurts. Alex barely realizes she’s moving again, suddenly finds herself face to face with Matt, her arm raised in the air and his hand wrapped around her wrist. His greenish eyes are wide with shock – was she really about to hit him? – but then she catches sight of his other hand, hovering in the space between them and smeared with blood. Hers.

“Shit Alex, what the hell happened?”

Her eyes shift to her daughter, face buried into Karen’s stomach, then back to Matt and she can feel herself come apart at the seams. “We have to get out of here,” she pleads, “she’s not safe. We _have_ to go.”

He’s looking at her as if she’s gone crazy. To be fair, at this point that is a distinct possibility.

“Matt, please.”

He releases her arm, nods slowly. “Yeah, all right. My car’s over there.”

Alex does her best not to succumb to the panic still clawing inside her when, just as they file into Matt’s Audi, Jack Chance exits the store. His eyes burn into her, so much like his father’s Alex can feel Joe’s hands ghost around her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the last couple of chapters has been astounding. I know I keep saying it, but thank you all so much!


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this meets everyone expectations...

 

The silence in the car is oppressing. Like a heavy, wet blanket that stifles the air. Matt keeps stealing glances at Alex, who is looking more withdrawn by the mile, her complexion ashen. She’s shaking and keeps looking at her daughter through the rear-view mirror as if to assure herself that Salome is there with them, perfectly healthy.

Alex is not. There’s still blood on his hand – hers – and he can tell she’s still bleeding where she’s pressed her hand into her side. The black fabric of her shirt obscures the growing pool of blood. But she refused to let him check out her injury and adamantly opposed going to A&E, frantically muttering about keeping her daughter safe, going home and calling the police. He’d intended to ignore her – still had half a mind to – but huddled together with Karen on the back seat, Salome looks so worried, he thinks the poor kid might have a mental breakdown if she has to see her mother in the hospital again.

So what does he _do_?

In the end he listens to Alex, sort of. He drives them to the apartment building in the hopes familiar surrounding will calm her down, although he’s not sure if that is where she means to go. It’s strange to suddenly realize he doesn’t know what Alex considers ‘home’; whether it’s Los Angeles or London. It seems odd she would consider Cardiff home, but then she didn’t have to stay here these last few weeks. So why had she?

Matt shakes his head to clear it. Semantics hardly matter right now. He asks Alex what happened and he can see her trying to answer; she opens her mouth but no sound comes out. Her eyes fill with tears.

When he pulls up in front of their building, Karen distracts Salome by starting a debate on which One Direction-boy is cuter. It takes them into Salome’s bedroom to study posters at which point Matt sits Alex down in a kitchen chair and calls for an ambulance. With shaking fingers he scrolls through his contact list for the number of officer Ryland, who handled the Cardiff-side of the investigation after Alex’s kidnapping.

Her eyes are unfocused and her pulse erratic. She’s going into shock and he still has no earthly idea what happened. “Have to – have to call the p-police. He’s going to hurt her,” she mumbles fearfully when he carefully lifts up her shirt to look at her injury. She’s shaking with the effort of holding herself together.

He wants to shake her, _make_ her snap out of it and tell him. “Hurt who?”

“Sal. He said... he said...” She trails off on a sob, shaking more violently under his hands. His fingers poke gently at her bloodied skin, revealing a two inch, shallow gash just above her hipbone ending in a deeper puncture. It’s bleeding, but thankfully not profusely.

“Alex, what happened to you? Who is going to hurt Salome?”

“The boy. Joe’s.”

Matt’s blood runs cold in his veins. With some effort he manages to catch her eyes, still unfocused and glazed over. How does one treat shock? “Joe’s? Joe’s _son_?” Alex sobs. “Joe’s son did this to you? At Tesco’s.” The pieces slot together in his mind and he cannot contain the anger that courses through him. “He’s the one who threatened Salome, who hurt you?”

He needs to move, do something because any second now his chest is going to split open from the force of his emotions. Hadn’t she suffered enough?

His fist slams down on the kitchen table with so much force the impact shudders through his torso. _Goddamnit_. She’d been attacked again and where the hell had he been? Messing around with Karen and Arthur and the props they’d nicked from set. He _loves_ her. He’s supposed to protect her.

Without looking at her he steps away to calm himself. If he looks at her right now, pale and trembling and so, so fragile he’ll have to punch something again and he’s not sure his hand will be able to take it. Fuck it all to hell.

A knock at the door gives him something else to focus on. Arthur stumbles in as soon as the door swings open. “Sorry, Karen had me out for flowers and then she texted and I... she said Alex is hurt. What happened? Can I help?”

“I’m not sure,” Matt lies, explaining will just rile him up again. “The paramedics and police will be here soon, can you make sure...” He gestures awkwardly down the hall.

Arthur bobs his head, “yeah, sure. She’s?”

“I think it’s shock, mostly.”

“Right. I’ll just... be outside, then.”

“Thanks mate.”

After Arthur leaves, Matt allows himself a few seconds to pace out his frustration before returning to Alex. She’s not shaking as badly anymore, but she’s still alarmingly pale. Not knowing what else to do, Matt settles down on a chair next to her, muttering nonsense about last night’s screening and the upcoming episodes in an effort to distract the both of them.

The paramedics arrive not much later, quickly followed by officer Ryland. He’d much prefer to take this to the police officer who helped them at Hearthrow, Kate Janney. Ryland is good, but not a very personable man with his brusque, rushed manner and pudgy appearance. While Alex is being checked over, he tells Ryland what he knows – which is pathetically little.

Alex for her part does her best to tell Ryland what happened, but it’s like her body won’t cooperate. Her words are slurred as if she’s drunk and she can’t seem to form coherent sentences. She’s trying so hard it kills him to watch.

The EMTs want to take Alex to the hospital. The injury on her hip is mostly superficial and not of great concern (small favours), but she’s teetering on the edge of full-blown shock and that apparently requires hospitalization. Alex’s refuses, shaking her head and mumbling on and on about getting the boy off the streets first. It makes little impression on the two medics.

It’s Salome who effectively ends the discussion. Having ventured out of her room, one hand firmly holding on to Karen, she’s watched the going-ons and steps up directly to her mom when Alex is starting to shout that she’s fine and just wants to be left alone.

“You’re not fine!” Sal shrieks. “You always say that when you’re not and you think I don’t know, but I do! I’m not a little girl anymore, mom. You shouldn’t lie to me. I know you’re afraid when we’re outside and I know about the nightmares and that your back hurts, that you have terrible headaches and I know that that man tried to _kill_ you and you shouldn’t lie to me about those things.”

The adults in the room collectively hold their breaths, eyes fixed on the angry twelve-year-old.

Tears are rolling down Salome’s cheeks and she’s letting out hiccupping sobs, but soldiers on bravely. “You don’t have to try so hard to protect me. Please mom, just get better.”

Slightly afraid of what he’ll find, Matt looks over to Alex. She’s looking at her daughter with wide, wet eyes as if she’s never seen her before. She takes a shuddering breath and in a low, thick voice simply says “okay”.

Pushing her way through the lot of adults – and between two paramedics, two policemen, Karen, Arthur and Matt, there are quite a few in the tiny kitchen – Salome throws her arms around her mother and clings to her tightly. “ _Tut mir leid, Mutti_. I love you.”

Making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, Alex buries her face in her daughter’s hair, blonde curls overtaking Sal’s darker locks. “Love you too, _Immer und Ständig, Süssling_.”

After that a coordinated calm settles over the adults, but Matt notices Alex withdraw into herself again even though she doesn’t let go of Salome. He only lets her out of his sight when the paramedics wheel her into the ambulance, Salome still close by.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next few are more baby steps, for some reason I just can't figure out how to move the plot along a bit quicker. Everyone just has so much to say and do...

Through the small window in the door to Alex’s private room, Matt watches her talk to her daughter. It’s a rare opportunity to watch someone in such an intimate setting without the distraction of sound and words.

Alex’s uncertainty is visible in the way her hands keep reaching for Salome, but then fall away too quickly. She’s perked up thanks to a saline-drip and some colour has returned to her cheeks. But Matt can’t help but feel something has shifted within her and he doesn’t like it one bit. He’s never seen her unsure around Salome, never seen her so painfully disconnected from her daughter with no idea how to fix it.

That day in this very same hospital, months ago now with her face messed up in all sorts of ways, she’d known exactly what to say to coax a frightened Salome into her arms. Now, although Salome is sitting on her mother’s bed, there’s a distance between them Matt can see from feet away.

Whatever they’re talking about, Salome doesn’t want to hear it and every time she turns her head away, Alex falters in her speech and loses her confidence. After a while, the teenager physically pulls away and although Alex reaches for her, she pulls her hand back before she makes contact. Seconds later, Salome is off the bed and out the door.

Unable to decide whether to go after Salome or talk to Alex, Matt takes a few steps down the hall before taking himself back to the door, then back down the hall again. When he turns yet again, he nearly loses his balance and tumbles against the door – which of course flies open sending him careening into Alex’s room.

She’s probably about as surprised to see him as he is surprised to find himself leaning over her bed. “Uhm. Hi.”

She smiles thinly. “Hi.”

“How, uhh, are you?”

“Fine, darling.”

He raises and eyebrow at her, not realizing she might take is as a comment until he sees the defeat written across her features. “I didn’t mean...”

“Don’t worry about it.”

But he _does_. Because he’s never seen her like this. Not even after she’d been rescued.

She looks defeated.

“Sal will come around,” he offers lamely.

“She doesn’t want to go back Stateside now that the Doctors won’t let me fly with her. Florian doesn’t want her to stay here.”

“And you?”

Alex shrugs, voice still uncharacteristically dull and her gaze grey and vacant. “I want her with me. I always do. But she’ll be safer over there and if she’s ever going to have a proper relationship with her stepmother, I think it’s important she’s part of the wedding and the preparations.”

“You’re very rational about this.” When she doesn’t respond, Matt decides to change the subject. “What did Doctor Kaplan say?”

“Mild shock. Not a big deal, really, but with my recent medical history – Well.”

The urge to grab her by her shoulders and shake some life into her makes his fingers twitch. Alex is always _alive_ , all smiles and sexy grins and twinkling eyes. It’s as if someone has switched off the light inside her and it terrifies him. “What about the...?” He gestures awkwardly at her hip.

“All stitched up. It’ll heal soon enough.”

“What happened?” Before the question leaves his mouth, he already knows she won’t answer. Just like she still hasn’t told him how Daniel Chance died, or about her nightmares or backaches. He’d thought they were getting closer, but Salome’s outburst back at the apartment had exposed quite painfully how much Alex still kept from him.

Alex merely shakes her head.

“Officer Ryland said they’re going to pick up the son. But he’s only seventeen and he’s just lost his parents – he doesn’t think they’ll be able to keep him.” She flinches at the mention of Jack Chance and starts to tear up. He wanted some reaction out of her, but he didn’t mean to make her cry. Now what does he do?

“They’re not going to arrest him?” Her voice is so thin, Matt reaches for her without thinking and to his surprise, Alex immediately shifts to press her face against his chest. His arms come around her, pulling her closer still. She’s shaking against him, her skin clammy where his hand presses against her bare back through the open hospital gown and she smells faintly of a flowery perfume he doesn’t recognize.

It’s not until he can hear her sob that he realizes she’s crying, properly crying. Her fingers curl into his shirt, clinging onto him for dear life. “It’s not fair,” she hiccups. “What did I do?”

All he can do is rub soothing circles on her back and quietly rejoice in her willingness to let him see this side of her. She doesn’t try to reign herself in either, sobbing for all she’s worth until his shirt is soaked with her tears.

The door creaks open and Matt catches Salome’s big eyes when the teenager slips back into the room. “Mommy?”

Alex pulls back from him, her eyes red and tears on her cheeks, but she doesn’t wipe them away or force a smile. Instead she opens her arms. “Come here, Süssling.”

Salome doesn’t need telling twice and flings herself into her mother’s arms. “I’m sorry, Mutti. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry too.”

With mother and daughter wrapped up in each other, Matt quietly slips out and makes the call Alex might kill him for later. Having nicked the contact-information from Alex’s fridge, he calls her therapist.

When Counsellor Strasser breezes into Alex’s hospital room forty-five minutes later, muttering something about mother-in-laws and thank god for weekend-shifts, it doesn’t take his co-star very long to figure out who called her in. The glare she throws his way falls flat, as if she doesn’t have the energy for it.

Meanwhile, on Karen’s order, he sets about bribing the hospital staff and does a quick sock-slide down the hall with Salome for old time’s sake. Sal wins, of course. His ego can take a little bruising if it means making her laugh like that. The actual bruise he sustains on his shin when colliding with a randomly parked walking frame is harder to take.

After more than an hour, the psychologist reappears. She talks to Salome for a bit out of Matt’s earshot, before properly introducing herself to him. At five-four or five-five and in flat ballerinas, Marjorie has to look up at him. “You did not tell Ms. Kingston you called me, did you Mr. Smith?”

He grins sheepishly. “Not like I was going to give her a choice in the matter.” It occurs to him that maybe forcing Alex’s hand at that point might not have been the smartest thing to do. Slightly alarmed, he glances back in the direction of her room. “Should I have?”

The Counsellor gives a little hum that does not provide an answer in any way. “You were worried about her.”

“She just seems so defeated. Like she’s given up or something. Yeah, I’m worried.”

Brown eyes regard him with uncomfortable intensity, as if the woman can read his every thought. “That’s not uncommon with shock; it drains energy, emotionally as well as physically.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is, shock?”

The woman tilts her head and smiles enigmatically, her salt and pepper ponytail swishing back and forth. “You should ask Ms. Kingston. Have a good day, Mr. Smith.”

He wants to ask her to just tell him already, because the not knowing is killing him. But if the past months have taught him anything, it is that without being related to Alex or involved with her, getting information about her medical – or indeed mental – status is trickier than getting a Dalek to smile. He’d know, because he’s achieved the latter (drunken Team Tardis members in the prop room with sharpies are dangerous things).

So none the wiser he lets himself into Alex’s room only to find her asleep, Salome curled up in the chair next to her. Half an hour until the dinner guests will be arriving with illegal pizzas. He’d better wake her. She may have forgiven him for calling her therapist, but he’s quite certain forgiveness will be harder to come by if he doesn’t give her enough warning to get properly dressed and groomed before springing a surprise party on her.

Ten minutes, he decides. He’ll let her rest for ten minutes; she needs it. Besides, he’s quite tired himself. Yeah, he’ll just close his eyes for ten minutes too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more I humbly thank you all for your time and comments - they really make it so much easier to keep up the weekly updates, thank you!


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that, another week, another chapter. And it's a relatively long one too :-)

Turns out, shutting his eyes for ten minutes was not a good plan at all (should’ve seen that coming really), because ten minutes turned into thirty, but mainly because right now Alex looks like she would properly kill him, given half the chance.

They’d been woken by Karen’s shrill voice, mocking their snooze-fest and announcing rather abruptly that Arthur was waiting just outside the door with Beth, Piers, Steven and Sue and would they all like to wipe off their drool off their faces before she called them in?

Well yes, yes they would.

Drool-free and hair quickly finger-combed they could’ve looked a sight worse, he tries to appease Alex.

She ignores him.

The lack of preparation has a distinct advantage though and that is Alex’s unwillingness to leave her bed in just the hospital gown.

Perhaps he needn’t have worried much after all. After almost an hour and despite the high volume of chatter and the smell of pizza, Alex falls asleep. At Kazza’s insistence (Kazza’s, yes, that’s his story and he’s sticking to it) all of them crowd around their co-star’s bed and pull faces while an unsuspecting nurse is bribed to take pictures in exchange for autographs and pizza.

Salome is loving every minute of it, feeling all grown-up with only adults around her and laughing the hardest when her mother starts to snore. Oh, if Alex ever hears about any of this, they’ll all be in serious trouble.

It’s not much of a deterrent. After all, it’s not as if she wouldn’t do exactly the same to one of them. He’s had first-hand encounters with the Kingston’s sense of humour when she lets it out in full force and it’s _evil_.

Still, when the time comes for everyone to leave, Matt is more than a little hesitant in waking Alex. The blush that colours her cheeks when she realises she’s slept through half the gathering is worth the scolding he receives. Even more so when later, after everyone else has left, she asks _him_ to stay with Salome that night.

He and Salome make all kinds of outrageous plans for the night, well within Alex’s earshot just to see how long it takes before she can’t hold her tongue. It’s not until Matt agree that yes, of course they’ll have popcorn and Dr. Pepper while watching _Chucky’s Bride_ and yes, sure the packing can wait until morning, that she finally barks out a sharp “no!” before she catches herself.

Salome literally falls over laughing at her mother’s horrified expression.

Always a good sport, Alex laughs along with her. Watching them makes Matt’s heart swell with an odd but powerful mixture of love and pride. In a poorly lit, barren hospital room he feels _home_.

While Alex is undergoing a couple of tests to check her progress, he takes Salome over to Karen and Arthur to spend the evening. Officer Ryland will drop by the hospital to talk some more to Alex about what happened at Tesco’s and Matt doesn’t want her to go through that alone.

Sal, exhausted too by the day’s events, barely protests.

By the time Matt makes it back to the hospital, Alex is already talking to two policemen in civilian clothes. Judging by the tight lines around her eyes and mouth, it isn’t going too well. For once he doesn’t overanalyse whether she wants him there or not, or if he has any right to be there; Matt pulls on his big-boy pants and all but barges into the room.

He’s pretty sure that the relief that flashes across Alex’s face isn’t just in his imagination.

After brief introductions – Ryland has brought a junior officer with him, a fresh-faced young man about Matt’s age by the name of Danny.

“They’ve got Jack in custody,” Alex informs him quietly, “but they’ll probably release him by tomorrow.”

“We don’t have enough to hold him,” Ryland admits with something that might be regret to his voice. “We haven’t found the knife, which makes the evidence circumstantial and technically he’s a minor, who has just been orphaned in a violent manner. The Chief is going to send him to counselling, but unless we find the knife, that’s probably going to be it.”

“What about his sister? Will she be allowed to stay with him?”

“Probably not, Ms. Kingston. He’s a minor and clearly troubled. There’s a note in the files that suggests there’s an aunt across the pond willing to take her in.”

“Wait.” Belatedly he notices Alex pale, but by then he’s already talking even if he’s not sure yet where he’s going. “I thought the guy – Daniel – didn’t have any family?”

For the first time, Danny speaks up. “He doesn’t, but his late wife has an estranged sister.”

“They’re going to take Sophie away from her brother,” Alex interrupts with a wavering voice. She’s not even really talking to them; eyes focused on some far away point. “He will hurt Salome if he loses his sister.”

“We won’t let that happen.”

“That boy cornered Alex in a Tesco’s, threatened and hurt her _and_ he’s getting away with it. How are you going to stop him?” Remorsefully he gestures an apology to Alex who looks a little stricken. He didn’t need to put it so crudely, or indeed speak before she had. It’s just – she’s important to him, he needs her and Salome to be safe. But the words are out there now and they both turn to the policemen for answers.

Ryland’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down and the man runs a hand through his close-cropped, greying hair. It could be a gesture of regret or annoyance, Matt can’t tell. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”

What does that mean though? But before he has a chance to ask, Alex puts an end to the conversation, saying simply “okay” and following it up with a yawn, which she tries to stifle in the crook of her arm.

Ryland sees an opportunity to get out of there and takes it with both hands, saying goodbyes under the pretence of letting Alex rest.

Matt sits back, contemplating the conversation just had and taking some comfort in knowing that at least the worst part of the day is really over now, when next to him, Alex takes a deep breath. “I should call Florian.”

Her eyes hold the same reluctance her voice does.

Matt sits up a little straighter. “I thought you already spoke to him.”

“No. Sal called him to ask if she could stay here. I’m not sure what she told him, but he was… unreceptive to the idea. But as long as Jack is out and about, she’ll be safer in the States.”

He looks at her in wonder of her selflessness when it comes to Salome. Alex isn’t one of those parents who live solely through their children and especially when her daughter isn’t with her, she is Alex first, mother second in the way she relates to her colleagues and possibly friends – or at least that’s the way he saw her.

Before.

Since she’d been kidnapped, he’d seen what he had failed to notice before – oh he’d known Alex is a brilliant mother, but he’d never been confronted with her devotion to Salome in these circumstances – and when Alex is scared and hurt, when she wants nothing more than to hold her daughter tight, Salome always comes first. Her safety and happiness, even when that means Alex has to let her go. He has no doubt she would lay down her life for that little girl and it’s humbling and magnificent and terrifying all at once.  

“Matt?”

He blinks at her. “Right. Sorry. I’ll leave you to it, yeah?”

Her eyes shift away from his for a moment, allowing him a brief glimpse of the vulnerability she usually coves so well. “Actually, if you don’t mind, could you stay?” She laughs nervously. “Not really looking forward to this call.”

His heart does a little summersault at her hesitant request. She wants him to stay with her. It’s a precious sign of trust and he grabs onto it with both hands. “Sure, anything you need, Kingston.”

Her smile gains a little confidence. “Thank you, darling.”

After a bit of stalling – which he doesn’t mind at all – Alex resolutely dials her ex-husband’s number.

She takes a deep breath before speaking into her phone. “Florian.”

“ _Ja, ich weiss und nein, sie hat es mir nicht erzählt!_ ”

From his end, Matt can’t hear what Florian might be saying and he doesn’t want to be rude and stare at Alex too much. By now, he knows her well enough to pick up a great many things from her voice alone.

“They just want to keep me overnight for observation.”

Of course she was already stressed before calling her ex-husband, so the exasperation in her voice isn’t really specific to the call. The clipped syllables – harsh and sharp – are. Alex always carries a  warmth in her voice, a roundness to her vowels that Matt adores. Her face is drawn and closed off and while Florian is talking, she’s biting on her bottom lip with such frustration Matt worries she might make herself bleed.

“I don’t know, Flo.”

“No of course I’m not trying to --- in fact I want her – _lass mich bitte aussprechen_.”

For the first time she looks straight at Matt. She rolls her eyes dramatically, probably to make this a little less awkward. It doesn’t help, but he grins at her anyway.

“You cannot be serious. We finalized the custody agreement just over a month ago! You really want to start that circus up again?”

“Well, Linda should mind her own damn business.”

“Do not – no, I’m serious, do not go there.”

“ _Sie ist unsere Tochter, du solltest das nicht vergessen!_ ”

“I promised you she’d be on that plane and she will be, unless you really want to threaten me with keeping her away from me. This is my time with her; I have no legal obligation to make sure she attends _deine Hochzeit_. Don’t make me…”

Matt sits up a little straighter, heart pounding. Is Florian really threatening to do that? Keep Salome away from her mother? Already there are tears gathering on Alex’s lashes. It terrifies him that he really has no idea what being separated from her daughter and another custody battle will do to her. How much will she be able to take before she breaks?

“Yes. Fine.”

“I’m flying over as soon as the Doctor clears me.”

“I don’t know. We’ll talk, all right?”

“Bye Florian.”

Matt allows her a few moments to gather herself. “You okay?”

“Yes. He’s just – he wants to protect her.”

“Keeping her from her mother isn’t protection, Alex.”

“He knows that. He does. He’s just… Sorry, I... I’m tired and emotional I suppose, you should just…” She gestures roughly at the door, tears starting to track down her cheeks.

A herd of stampeding bison would not drive him out of her room, let alone a few drops of water and salt. Before she can wind herself up any more, Matt wraps his arms around her, half-sitting on the bed. Alex tries to hold her composure, the effort of it coiling through her muscles until she relaxes into his hug.

This time she doesn’t cry, though he can tell she’s close by the sniffles muffled against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Magnolia for her help with the German bits


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, it's a longish chapter where nothing much happens. Sorry.

Sunday is mad. There really is no other word for it. While he’d been at Alex’s apartment on time the previous night to help Salome pack, he’d been so knackered and wired he had instead opted to watch a movie with Sal. They’d chatted for a bit about her father’s wedding and he’d tried to talk to her about Alex. When he did however the teenager closed up and halfway through _The Devil wears Prada_ , she fell asleep.

Meaning that on Sunday morning they have to rush to get Sal’s stuff packed. She is laughing her head off as Matt throws everything into her wheelie-suitcase and sits on it to get it shut. After a quick check to make sure she has her passport and ticket, they are out the door and on the way to the hospital.

Alex had a good night and is being discharged at her insistence so she can at least accompany her daughter to the airport and see her off. Papers have to be signed, more stuff has to be packed and off they are. It’s just past ten a.m. when he turns onto the M4, the two Kingston women together in the back.

Salome’s flight isn’t until five-thirty, which leaves them just enough time to visit Alex’s parents in Surrey if the traffic isn’t too bad.

Traffic is in fact pretty light for a Sunday. Or maybe time just flies by because of Alex’s determination to cheer up her kid. They play too many rounds of I Spy to count and sing German travel songs Matt has never heard of nor could hope to join in on. He tries anyway, much to his passengers’ delight and mockery.

In no time at all Alex is guiding him through a rather deserted Surrey to her parents’ house.

Anthony and Margarethe, who are waiting for them on the driveway, greet them warmly. Matt hangs back as hugs and kisses are exchanged. Alex is held tight by her mother, but clings harder to her father while Salome is babbling excitedly about the trip.

While Mrs. Kingston herds everyone inside, Tony falls into step next to Matt and greets him with a firm handshake and worried eyes. “How is she?”

And what does he say to that? “Disappointed she can’t fly back with Salome tonight.” Is safest.

Tony hums his understanding. “Why is that? I thought she was doing better.”

Oh great, she hadn’t told her parents about yesterday’s events. Now what is he supposed to say? Matt is frantically thinking of something to say, when up ahead, Sal does it for him. “Matt and I had a sleepover last night when mommy was in the hospital and we did _loads_ of cool stuff,” she enthuses at her grandmother.

Both Kingston elders blanche at that and turn towards their daughter.

Alex for her part, looks aptly guilty. “I’m fine,” she rushes to comfort her parents, but at her daughter’s sharp glare, amends to “I’m doing better. I’ll explain. Just, tea, yeah?”

Reluctantly her mother nods her ascent.

“Going on, Süssling,” Alex directs Salome, ”help out your Oma.”

With a slight grumble, Sal does as she’s told and trudges after her grandmother. Margarethe is a few inches shorter than Alex and her shorter stride makes her blond-and-grey curls bob up and down in the same rhythm as her granddaughter’s much darker mop.

“How is Susie?”

Mr. Kingston leads them out of the bright and sparsely decorated hall into a living room filled to the brim with authentic wooden furniture. The chairs and couch, made of dark wood, look robust and lived in – the brown leather worn down at the corners.

Robust though it looks, the couch groans when Tony all but drops himself into it with a satisfied sigh. On the walls there are several abstract paintings in pinks and oranges with dashes of blue. The largest one must be a family portrait, made up of five human shapes with vague facial features. It’s the suggestion of dark yellow ringlets on one of the three smaller shapes that makes him confident in his assumption. That one must be Alex.

Matt watches as Alex hovers by the smaller settee, gaze pensive and directed towards the garden. Sal will probably want to sit with her mother and the pale green fauteuil on the other end of the couch has knit-work possessively draped over it. Margarethe’s chair, then, which leaves Matt to join the other man on the couch.

“She’s not doing very well, love. More bad days than good.” Tony answers gently.

Three big windows look out over a well kept, large garden at the end of which there is a sort of townhouse. From Alex’s stories, he surmises that must be where her youngest sister lives. He looks around for a proper picture, but finds none. Alex makes a sympathetic sound in the back of her throat. “Can she handle visitors?”

“She’ll be happy to see you, but maybe you should leave the poppet with us this time.”

She offers her father a wan smile. “I won’t be long.”

“Better not,” he agrees pointedly, “your mum will want to grill you.”

Alex gestures her acknowledgement over her shoulder, trudging off through another door on the far end of the room and just like that, Matt is alone with her family.

He’s only seen her parents once since those days in the hospital. Three hours is a bit of a drive for any couple in its seventies and Alex’s parents have a handicapped daughter to take care off. She never talks much about her youngest sister, Matt doesn’t know what her disability is – but he recognized the look that ghosted across Mr. Kingston’s face. It was the same look he’d seen on the man’s features when he’d told Matt of his eldest daughter’s injuries.

“Matt, how is she really?”

He hems and haws for a bit, then blurts, “I’m not sure. Some days I think I know, but then others she’s so… I dunno. Unreachable? I don’t know.” He runs his fingers through his hair. That’s it, isn’t it? One moment it feels like he’s in, like they’re going somewhere however slowly – but then the next it’s as if it had all been in his imagination. To her he wavers between good friend and friendly colleague.

To him… oh to him… he sighs. This is not the time to push her, he knows that. He gave her the choice that night in her trailer and he’s okay doing this in her time, but that doesn’t stop the ache inside his chest – the overwhelming desire to press her up against the nearest surface and kiss her senseless, to pour all the things he cannot put into words properly into her mouth.

And listen to him. Isn’t he just a broken record, stuck on the same wish without a clue how to move on.

“She’s always been like that.”

Tony’s low voice jerks him out of his thoughts. “Sorry?”

The man smiles kindly, “she’s a tough nut to crack, son. Those two wretched husbands didn’t help.”

“’suppose not.”

“So be good to her, yeah?”

Is he implying? Matt sputters, caught off guard, then rescued by Salome bounding in with a tray of various cookies – crumbs already stuck in the corners of her mouth. She’s about to grab another when her grandmother calls from the kitchen “guests first, little one!”

Grumbling, the teenager dutifully holds out to treats to Matt. Her eyes are glued to the cookies however and her nose wrinkles up adorably when he reaches for the only dark chocolate one with white flakes. “Sorry, did you want that?”

Sal glances at her grandfather and bites her bottom lip in a manner achingly familiar. “No,” she mutters, shoulders sagging.

Matt winks at her and picks a small macaroon.

Hope in her eyes, Sal trudges over to her grandfather. Her eyes follow his hand carefully as he threatens to take the chocolate one too. “Where’s mom?” She asks, relieved, when he too selects a different cookie. Tony has barely lifted his choice out of the tin, or Salome quickly snatches her prize.

“She’s visiting your Aunt Susie.”

Munching noisily on her biscuit, she puts the tin down on the salon table. “Can I go too?”

“Better not, Poppet. Susie is a bit under the weather and we don’t want you to get sick before your dad’s wedding, yeah?”

“Pfff, I don’t even like weddings. I don’t see why daddy has to get married again.”

Infinitely grateful that he isn’t the one who has to answer, Matt takes another bite of his cookie and sinks a little deeper into the cushions.

“It’s what people do when they really love each other.”

“But why? Everyone always says marriage is forever, but it’s not. And I don’t even like _Linda_.” With a great big huff, she plonks herself down on the smaller settee. “Weddings are stupid.”

Clearly at a loss for words, relief flashes across Mr. Kingston’s features when his wife chooses that moment to walk into the room with a tray holding tea and coffee and some kind of juice for Salome. “Where’d our daughter run off too,” she wonders after taking in the occupants.

“Susie’s.”

Margarethe mutters something under her breath in German and sets about pouring and distributing drinks with determined efficiency.

Matt sinks deeper into the couch still.

Thankfully it isn’t too long before Alex gets back and both grandparents are easily entertained by the youngest Kingston in the meantime. With Sal’s dad in the States, they probably don’t see as much of her as they’d like either.

When Alex reappears, she looks a little pale. He studies her while she exchanges a few words with her mother in German and ruffles Salome’s hair. Her mouth is set in a grim line and her eyes are guarded. Clearly she’s not looking forward to telling her parents about the previous day and what that little creep did to her.

Eventually he catches her eyes, trying his damnest to convey _it’ll be okay_ and _I’m here_. Alex gives him a wan smile in return before addressing her daughter. “Why don’t you show Matt the attic, Süssling. I’m sure he’d like that.”

“That just means you’re going to talk about _adult_ things,” Sal huffs. “I’m twelve, you know. Not eight.”

“I know Sweetheart, you’re growing up far too quickly. Just do this for me, yeah?”

“I guess the attic is pretty cool. Come on, Matty, you can even switch on the lights!”

A bit perplexed by her sudden enthusiasm – what is in that attic? – Matt follows docilely even though he’d much rather stay with Alex and hold her hand or something. She shouldn’t have to do all this alone.

Turns out, the attic is in fact pretty cool. Clearly Mr. Kingston had put a great deal of time in constructing a model train rail in the large top floor only to have his three daughters hijack it. Fundamentally it looks exactly like a model train rail should; a green base with a couple of small hills and a tunnel, old tracks with that slightly bronze gleam and a beautiful traditional locomotive pulling a couple of segments.

The landscape is decorated with trees, bushes, a few houses, a church, a municipal hall and tiny, brilliant figurines carefully placed throughout the small town and beyond. Finely crafted lanterns are lined along streets and bits of trail and when Salome – unable to help herself despite her promise – flips the light switch, miniscule lamps switch on and cast shadows across the miniature world.

Of course all that is ignoring the elaborately dressed Barbie dolls placed throughout the venue. Like garish, pink Godzilla’s they loom over the townspeople. A couple of houses have been painted a bright pink and purple with rough, impatient strokes. And perched atop the highest hill is a stuffed teddy bear. On the fields below there’s a herd of brightly coloured My Little Pony’s milling about.

On the other side of the sizable plateau a white horse-drawn carriage blocks the tracks, Ken and Barbie snuggled in the back. So far he’s managed not to laugh, but when he spots the train chassis mounted under the carriage and another one glued to the horse’s feet, Matt can’t help but guffaw.

Salome glares at him, looking so much like her mother he only laughs harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for still reading and commenting, it means a lot!  
> Also, please feel free to share your theories either in a comment or via mail (find it in my profile). I get a kick out of it :-)


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically it's Sunday, but heh. Also; plot will be moving forward again next week, promise :)

Matt’s thoughts keep returning to that attic. And considering they’re navigating a ridiculously crowded Heathrow, it’s not a wise move. He’s already bumped into a burly, very rude businessman and gotten an earful of choice words.

Ever since leaving Surrey, Alex has been winding up her daughter with the promise of a big surprise. Honestly, Matt is as curious as Salome. It’s a good distraction too; Sal is so caught up in figuring out her surprise, she forgets to sulk over her mum staying behind.

Alex for her part appears to have shaken off what must’ve been an emotional conversation with her parents. When Matt and Salome returned from that crazy attic, Alex had been pale and he’d noticed her hand shaking when she’d picked up her bag. She looks much better now, though there are telltale signs of exhaustion in her eyes.

The first stage of the check-in process looms closely now. The line for the security check starts only a few feet ahead. Whatever surprise Alex has planned, she’d better bring it out soon.

Matt’s barely finished the thought, or Salome lets out a high-pitched squeal and flings herself at a nearby figure, bags forgotten on the tiled floor. “Moe!”

The woman who caught her, hugs her close, grinning fondly. “Hello Larry,”

Matt stares on in confusion. He knows the woman – Claudia – they met just after Alex had been kidnapped, but he’s a bit confused as to why she’s here and why Sal calls her Moe. Thankfully Alex notices and steps up to clue him in. “Larry, Moe and Curly – the three stooges?” She gestures at herself, then Sal and Claudia with a self-deprecating smile. “Claude and I had a friend called Larry at RADA. The nicknames stuck.”

“Curly wasn’t really curly,” he mutters into her ear.

“Details Smetails.”

“Excellent comeback, dear.”

Alex rolls her eyes at him. “Oh do shut up.”

He’s grinning like an idiot when Claudia disentangles herself from Salome and greets him with a firm handshake before she wraps Alex in a tight hug. Alex closes her eyes and buries her face in Claudia’s neck. He catches her tremble slightly at whatever her friend whispers into her ear. When they pull apart, both their smiles are wavering.

With a big grin plastered onto her features, Alex turns to her daughter. “Well then, what do you think of your surprise?”

“Awesome! But why is she here?”

“Such a warm welcome,” Claudia mocks. “Just say the word and I’ll switch back to tomorrow’s flight.”

It’s hardly possible, but little Kingston’s eyes light up even more. “You’re flying with me? The _whole_ way?”

“If you behave, otherwise I’ll just jump out midway.”

Glancing at her mother, Salome visibly sobers before throwing herself into Alex’s arms. “Thanks mom, but I’d still rather fly with you.”

“I appreciate that Süssling,” is the soft reply.

Claudia comes to stand next to him and watch mother and daughter say their goodbyes. “How has she been?” she asks softly. Her voice is pleasantly low and her sharp blue eyes find his.

“You’ve talked,” Matt hedges. Why is everyone asking him this?

“On the phone – she’s an actress, a bloody good one at that.”

He hums an affirmative then quietly admits, “I’m worried”.

Claudia sighs. “Me too.”

“I think it helps that you’re travelling with Salome.”

“I was booked to fly out tomorrow anyway. It wasn’t a big deal to change it.”

For a moment he drags his eyes away from Alex and studies her tall friend. Claudia’s hair – dyed – falls in chestnut semi-curls down her shoulders and her face is sharper and much more lined than Alex’s, her skin more tanned. She looks – well, he supposes she looks her age. She’s beautiful, uncommon like Alex but in a different way – harder where Alex is soft.

It’s clear she means a lot to Alex and that they know each other very well. Something about it unsettles him though and he hadn’t been able to figure out what it was until just now.

“She asked you to change your flight?”

“Yeah.”

Matt turns this information over in his head as Alex and Salome join them, talking their friend through Sal’s timetable. She’s never asked him for help and the times she sort of had, she’d always felt the need to prefix her request with a ‘don’t worry about it if you have plans’, or ‘you probably have something better to do but…’

God. He’s jealous.

 _Seriously_?

“Matty?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, he finds Salome staring up at him. “Thank you for driving us and for looking after my mum.” Crouching down he lets her wrap her thin arms around him and hugs her close.

“Not a problem, kid. I’ll keep her safe, yeah?”

She nods into his shoulder. “Yes please.”

When she pulls away, he gives her a wink to seal the deal, then steps back to let mother and daughter say goodbye. Even from a respectable distance he can see Alex battling against tears – a fight Salome has already lost. She’s openly sobbing in her mother’s arms, begging to be allowed to stay. He’s not sure he’d have the strength to send her on that plane if he were in Alex’s shoes.

Alex makes hushed promises in German he can’t quite hear, fussing over Salome’s hair and clothes in an effort to keep herself together. It’s up to Claudia to gently step in and remind them that they need to start queuing for the security checks.

On instinct Matt wraps an arm around Alex’s shoulder when she comes to stand next to him. She’s smiling bravely, teeth digging into her bottom lip and eyes reddened. He can feel her tremble slightly against him, but she stays rooted to the spot until Salome reluctantly passes through the security gate and disappears from their sight. When she does, Alex takes a deep, shuddering breath and turns to bury her face in his chest, her slinged arm awkwardly trapped between them.

Matt barely dares to breathe. He adores it – _loves_ it – when Alex seeks physical comfort from him, be it small touches or full body hugs and there is certainly more touching between them lately. It may not be about him though, he may simply be the nearest available body and that small internal disclaimer weighs heavily on his heart.

After a few beats Alex pulls away and takes another deep breath. She opens her mouth to speak, but snaps it shut before saying anything, sniffling instead.

“Let’s grab some food, yeah?”

Alex simply nods and follows him, her eyes lingering on the security gates until they’re out of sight.

Dinner consists of dry pizza for him and a meagre ham-sandwich for Alex. They eat in silence – time he’s sure she needs to adjust to her daughter’s absence. Time he spends trying not to criticize how little she’s eating.

It’s when he turns his Audi onto the M4 that he finally asks, “why not stay in London?”

She looks at him with alarm. “Sorry, are you not okay to drive back? I should’ve asked. Shit Matt, I didn’t mean – why didn’t you?”

It’s really not funny, because Alex looks genuinely horrified, but the way she’s tripping over her own tongue is adorable. It’s rare to see her so flustered. He has to laugh, then quickly reassures her. “No, no, that’s not what I mean. That’s why I bought the car – love long drives, don’t really get enough time for them – no, I meant why have you stayed in Cardiff all this time? You don’t usually. You could’ve been closer to your family and friends.”

The tips of his ears burn as Alex shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “I don’t know,” she admits hesitantly. “Didn’t really see the point, I suppose.”

Oh, lie. He can tell because she refuses to look at him for longer than a second or two. “I’m sure your parents and sisters would’ve liked to have you nearer.”

She shrugs, but doesn’t otherwise reply. Very well, he can wait her out – he’s certainly getting enough practice in that area.

Six miles tick by on the dashboard before Alex capitulates. “They have enough concerns. My parents are getting up there in age and Susie hasn’t been doing well for some time now. Nic has her family. Besides, honestly? Cardiff just felt more manageable, if that makes sense. Less people, less press, less everything really.”

She looks at him sideways, almost shyly as if she’s afraid he’ll find fault with her reasoning. He does. He doesn’t know her family very well, but he’s convinced her parents would do anything for any of their children. The attic overrun by Barbies proves as much. “Parents’ prerogative to worry – isn’t that what you always tell Salome? I don’t think your parents are any different.”

“They’re not. But between Team Tardis and the other Whovians, I was really quite taken care off. Unless this is a roundabout way of saying I’ve been a terrible patient.”

“No, no, of course not. You’ve been -- Alex, that’s not what I –“ A truck swerving dangerously close to their lane interrupts his hurried clarification. Quickly accelerating, Matt makes sure there is enough distance between them and the truck before turning to Alex to pick up where he left off only to find her grinning at him. “You did that on purpose.”

“Yup.”

“That wasn’t very nice.”

She narrows her eyes at him; a clear sign of trouble were it not that she’s visibly holding back a grin. “Neither was letting me sleep through my own party.”

“You should see the pictures. Totally worth it.”

“What pictures? Matt? What pictures?”

Oops. “Hush, don’t distract the driver.”

“Matt!”

It really wasn’t the smartest move – alerting her to the existence of those pictures – but he just couldn’t help himself. Alex Kingston is adorable when trying to get her hands on secrets. Probably because she’s usually the one keeping them. Well, what goes around comes around, so take that, Kingston.

And truth to be told, he feels a little rejected when she drops the subject much quicker than he expects. “When are you leaving for Comic Con?”

He blinks at the abrupt change in subject. “Uhm, Friday morning. Early Friday morning and of course Kazza wants to go pub hopping on Thursday to say goodbye to Cardiff. How are transatlantic flights with hangovers?”

Alex shrugs. “No worse than transatlantic flights without hangovers. It’s still ten plus hours cooped up in a too small metal box with a bunch of strangers and very little to look at, as you well know.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Pub hopping doesn’t so bad.”

“I suppose not,” he admits. He’s not quite as frequent a transatlantic travelling as she is, for him the journey still holds some charm – although now that he thinks about it, that charm usually wears off within an hour of lift-off. “And maybe if we get Karen drunk enough she won’t bug us so much during the flight.”

“Oh you love her,” Alex chastises, “be nice to her. You’ll be seeing a lot less of her.”

“Way to be a downer.”

“Sorry.”

He didn’t mean it and her apology isn’t all that sincere, but now he’s thinking about Who without his mates and there’s a small lump in his throat. “I’ll miss them,” he admits, mostly because he’ll never say it to Karen, which means that now he can’t say it to Arthur either. Damn them anyway for leaving him behind.

“Of course you will, but it’s part of the job. You know that.”

“I do. It’s just weird.”

“Oh darling, it’s a lot more than weird. But Jenna is lovely, she’ll be good for you. And it’s not as if you won’t be able to keep in touch with them. Between skype, texts, e-mails, planes and Karen’s impressive vocal cords it’s not really goodbye.”

Despite himself, he snickers. “I won’t miss her screeching, god her poor mum. Can you imagine her as a baby?”

Alex stifles a grin. “Oi, be nice you.”

“You started it. But you’re right – of course. Thanks, Kingston.” He looks over at her to make sure she doesn’t write his gratitude off as another light-hearted comment and starts at the serious expression on her face.

Her eyes glitter with emotions he’s not sure he’s ready for, certainly not in the middle of the M4 with particularly rubbish drivers around him. Suddenly nervous, he forces his eyes back on the road. The weight of Alex’s gaze doesn’t leave him though. “No. Thank you,” she whispers hoarsely and at length. “These past months, I’ve been, well… and you—“

He opens his mouth to spare her, to make a joke or flirt as is their habit because she’s choking up and struggling and she does that so rarely. But then how will she ever see him as anything other than the flirting, bumbling idiot when he shies away from moments like these? “You don’t have to…”

Golden curls fly everywhere when Alex shakes her head resolutely. “No, I do. Matt, you’ve been – you’ve been wonderful. _Thank you_.”

His breath catches in his throat at the impossibly sincere expression in her eyes, at the soft timbre of her voice. Her words wash over him like a physical caress and wrap themselves gently around his heart. “Really Kingston, my pleasure.”

She makes a noise of frustration in the back of her throat, green eyes imploring him. “I’m sorry I’m not –“

Heart pounding, he cuts her off quickly. “Alex, we’ll talk yeah? Tonight even If you’re ready – anytime – but I’d rather not get us killed before then, yeah?”

With a watery chuckle and a curios glint in her eyes, Alex acquiesces. “You’re quite something, Mr. Smith.”

He takes his eyes off the toad for a second to look at her with a small grin, torn between elation and fear but his words no less sincere for it. “And you, Ms Kingston.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have all been wonderful too. Thank you


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that plot I spy? Oh no!

The next morning Alex wakes with a pounding headache and a stiff back. Having slept so deeply, it takes her a couple of minutes to clear her mind and pinpoint the cause of the constricted feeling in her chest.

With a start she realizes how close she came to admitting to feelings she’s not even sure she has.

Carefully Alex rolls out of bed. The muscles in her back protest every move but she knows they’ll feel better once she’s moved around a bit. A sharp, pulling pain radiating from her side takes her by surprise and she presses her fingers to the bandage. A knife wound. Just when the previous one has finally healed and how ridiculous is that? Knife wounds, plural. What happened to her life?

She spends the morning in an odd kind of daze – mind refusing to really wake up. But she has nowhere to be, no child to take care off, so she decides not to beat herself up about it and just enjoy the slow morning.

It’s probably a good thing her and Matt didn’t have that talk last night. She remembers her awkward attempt to express her gratitude. And she is so very grateful to all of her friends, but to Matt especially. He has been nothing short of perfect. She tries not to think about it too much because whenever she does, her own mind confuses her to no end.

Sure they’re friends and he is a good man, the kind who is always quick to lend a hand or try to brighten someone’s day for no other reason than it’ll make them feel better. Everyone on set adores him and it’s all too easy to understand why.

So where does that leave her? She’s come to lean on him despite her best efforts not to and then he had to go and kiss her and honestly, her head is such a mess these days – between the Chances, her struggle with Florian, worry over Salome and the physical discomforts of a bad back and arm – she really has no idea how she feels about Matt Smith.

It’s entirely possible the warm, fuzzy feelings she gets around him are not really about him, but a way for her psyche to escape the despair and loneliness she felt in that basement. Her psychologist certainly seems to think it a possibility. As much as she wants someone right now to cling to at night, to steady her and support her with everything that’s going on – it’s entirely too tempting to accept all he is offering and she knows Matt deserves better than that.

The realization steals over her like a bucket of cold water. What has she been doing? And what is she supposed to do now?

And what about him? She doesn’t know how long he’s had feelings for her. When, for him, friendship had become something more. If that happened during or after her – she swallows – her kidnapping, the stress and concern acting as a catalyst perhaps then how is that any foundation for a relationship? She’s hardly been herself in the aftermath

The smart thing for both of them would be to take some distance from each other. Simply because Alex knows she’s not the right mental space for anything like this right now and until she is, whatever other reservations she may have are inconsequential.

Staring at the mug of tea in her hand, Alex takes a shuddering breath and blinks back her tears. In this moment she understand exactly how the Doctor must feel. She wants to run. She wants to grab her daughter and run to some small town in the middle of nowhere and just not think about custody or evil or her love life or her dying sister. She’s drowning in all the things she is supposed to sort out and deal with.

Last night she’d confessed to some of those to Matt, whispered her fears about her health. Two weeks until she’s allowed to take the blasted sling off and though her fine motor skills have improved immensely she’s still dealing with a loss of dexterity in her left hand. Last night she hadn’t even been able to get her key into its slot.

And while she’s spoken to her parents a lot over the last few months, it had been a shock to see her sister. Susie has always been amazing. Always quick with a smile and generally cheerful, Susie has exceeded physicians’ expectations. But now, nearing her fortieth birthday, she is visibly declining and it’s another thing Alex doesn’t know how to handle. She really should be helping her parents rather than add to their worries.

To distract herself from the depressing thoughts, she gingerly stands up and moves to the kitchen sink to get rid of her cold tea. The stitches in her side pull uncomfortably with every step and she presses down on them to alleviate the pain while contemplating what to do next. It’s rare for her to have this much time on her hands without things to do, but her fridge is stuffed and the whole place is clean – courtesy of Arthur and Karen (though probably more Arthur than Karen). She doesn’t have lines to study and her Who-colleagues are on set to film the last of the DVD extras. Across an ocean and a big swathe of land, Salome is fast asleep.

And at least for the time being, somewhere in town Jack Chance is sitting in a cell.

Thinking she might fancy a nap, Alex drags herself back to bed.

It’s ridiculous how tired she is, because when she wakes again some three hours later (head pounding again) all she wants to do is turn over and go back to sleep. Which she promptly does.

The next time she wakes, it’s with a start. Heart hammering away in her chest, Alex takes a couple of deep breaths to calm herself. It must’ve been a nightmare, though she doesn’t recall dreaming at all. That really is something to rejoice in because she has nightmares more often than not these days. But with adrenaline racing through her veins, rejoicing in anything is a bit of a task.

And then there’s a loud bang coming from somewhere in the apartment.

Scrambling backwards on her bed, Alex flattens herself against the headboard. Panic closes up her throat and her breath stalls in her throat.

_Oh dear God_.

She tries desperately to listen for any other sounds – maybe it was just her imagination, it had to have been, right? The building is secure, with security guards posted at the two entrances who filter out anyone without a badge. “There’s no one there,” she assures herself, resolutely ignoring how her voice wavers.

Quickly she sweeps her bedroom for any sign of intruders, eyes glancing over the doors to her closet, the small chair buried underneath a pile of clothes and the door leading to the hallway. Why is there a piece of paper taped to her door?

Careful not to make a sound, Alex pads over to the door. Right at eye-level there’s a cheerful note and what can only be Karen’s handwriting.

_Little Pond!_

_We’re making dinner, so don’t freak out if you hear weird noises. Matt probably just nearly killed us all by exploding the oven. Don’t worry, I didn’t let the boys into your room. Just had to check if you were in. Come out whenever you’re ready._

_Mama Pond_

Closing her eyes, Alex exhales slowly. At least her friends had had the presence of mind to leave the note, but even so she feels like she just aged another ten years. But Lord, she must look a fright after sleeping for so long and she hasn’t showered since she left the hospital.

As soon as she opens her door, a pile of clothes and towels in her arms, she can smell the unmistakable scent of tomato sauce and her stomach growls eagerly. Karen comes out of the kitchen and without hesitation wraps her arms around both the pile of fabrics and Alex herself. “Good morning Sleepyhead. You okay to shower on your own?”

Alex nods. “I’ve gotten quite adept at the one-armed existence, I’ll be fine. Thank you for –“

“Don’t mention it. Besides, have to make the most of every minute I have my family together. Now, on you go. And don’t forget to brush your teeth, young lady!”

She rolls her eyes fondly and doesn’t need telling twice, having little desire to face either Matt or Arthur grimy as she is. “Yes mummy.”

The shower makes a world of difference and dinner after is lovely. Arthur makes a mean meatball. She excuses herself to her bedroom around eight for a skype-date with her daughter only to receive a text not seconds later.

_Still at the bridal shop. Pink and frilly and Linda wants me to wear red shoes with heels! She has a worse fashion sense than u do :( TTY 2morrow? Xxx Sal_

Cringing at her daughter’s spelling, Alex resists the urge to hit something. Is this what it’s going to be like? Salome out and about with her new stepmom while she holes herself up in whatever hotel room or television sponsored apartment she might be staying in? Sharing her daughter with her ex-husband is hard enough.

Furiously blinking back tears, she hurriedly types out a reply. _Miss you, Süssling. Try and have fun yeah? It’s a big day for Linda and your dad. See if they have purple lacquered shoes with yellow polka dots, those will go nice with any dress ;) Tomorrow is good – you know I always make time for you. Love you. xxx_

_Sorry mom, miss u 2. 2morrow night, 4 PDT. Linda says we’ll be ‘shopping like mad’ all morning. If they have those shoes I’ll get them just to piss off Linda :D Love u x_

_Send me a picture. Be nice, young lady and we’ll talk tomorrow. Immer und Ständig._

She’s just hit send when there’s a quick knock on the door. She quickly dabs at her eyes before letting them in.

Matt is waiting on the other side, a mug of steaming tea in his hand. “Thought you might like some tea while you chat.”

His hair is obstructing most of his forehead, one particular rebellious lock hanging across his right eye as his gaze sweeps over her. He looks so goddamn concerned. Alex swallows hard.

“You okay?”

Shrugging, she takes the mug from him and hides behind it while sipping, trying her hardest not to show how affected she is. “Salome can’t make it. She’s trying on her brides maid’s dress with Linda.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. Well, we’ll talk tomorrow. Let’s see if Karen and Arthur have been able to restrain themselves from defiling my couch.”

If her voice is a little higher, a little harsher than it should be, Matt doesn’t mention it.

The three other members of Team Tardis are an excellent distraction most of the evening, keeping Alex from thinking about her daughter and the changes in her life too much. Almost as soon as they leave she sees herself to bed. Time goes faster when she sleeps most of it away.

And sleep she does, stubbornly refusing to get out of bed and do things and so Monday evening turns into Tuesday morning and then Tuesday midday. Officer Ryland calls with news that should cheer her up but doesn’t – they’ve found the knife Jack Chance used to threaten her with, meaning that they’ll be able to keep him in custody much longer and possibly even properly charge him – Alex thanks him and goes back to sleep. She has nothing to do but talk to Salome anyway and that isn’t until late in the evening.

With a lame excuse about therapy, Alex begs off dinner that evening and spends a few hours watching utterly crap telly before finally, _finally_ she gets to talk to her daughter again.

Salome is a little out of breath when the video screen pops up. Her cheeks are flushed and there appear to be smudges of chocolate in the corners of her mouth – though the quality of the transmission isn’t all that sharp. Alex takes a moment to just look at her – this miracle she made, a beautiful, bright eyed child who’s growing up much, much too quickly.

“Sorry I’m late, mum. We were tasting pies.”

“That must’ve been a hardship,” Alex offers in faux-sympathy, working hard to keep her melancholy from spilling through the screen. She’s very grateful Florian and Linda are making such an effort to include Salome in the preparations.

“Yes,” Sal agrees dryly, “nobody likes eating pie.”

It’s then that Alex realizes her kid is a little too bright eyed, her voice a little too high.

Sugar rush.

“Did you get pictures of your dress?”

“Yes I did!” While fumbling with her cell phone, she starts off on an excited monologue about everything that happened in the bridal shop and earlier today. Apparently, tasting pies made being around her stepmother bearable. Although clearly not Salome’s favourite person, she is much less critical of her stepmom-to-be now than she had been before leaving.

And if it kills Alex a little, well, at least her daughter doesn’t pick up on it.

It’s a bit hard to make out the picture on Sal’s cell as she holds it up to the webcam. Though the dress looks to be a lot more frilly and mature than anything Alex would have picked out, Salome does look very pretty in the pale pink dress. “You look beautiful, love. All grown up.”

“Aw mom, don’t go all mushy on me. What about your dress?”

“Haven’t decided yet—“

Trying to put her phone away, Salome drops it and immediately ducks after it, cursing. “ _Scheisse_!”

“Salome!”

“Sorry.” At least the teenager tries to look contrite, but even Alex’s best _I’m serious here_ face can’t wipe the excited grin off her daughter’s face. Sal is practically vibrating in front of the screen with excitement and Alex has the sinking suspicion that it’s not because of the sugar rush.

“You look like you have a secret to tell, Süssling.”

Caught, Salome bats her eyelashes bashfully. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

The admission makes the hairs on the back of Alex’s neck rise. Her and Florian had agreed early on after their separation never to have Salome keep secrets from the other, to never put her in the middle and so far, they never had. “Well…” but well what? She can’t very well ask her daughter to betray her father’s trust, but what secret could Flo possibly want her to keep?

“I promised Linda not to tell Daddy either.”

Clearly Salome thinks this will make her feel better, but it really, _really_ doesn’t. “Sal?”

“It’s nothing bad mom! She just showed me a picture of her niece – the one who’s going to be my new sister.”

“Well, why would she want you to keep that a secret?”

“Because I already met her!” For a moment Alex is distracted by how much Sal suddenly looks like her six-year-old self, bouncing excitedly up and down in front of her computer.

Then her words hit. “You have?”

“You can’t tell her! You’ve met her too, she was really nice mum, remember? That girl in Tesco’s the other day.”

“The other day?” She’s only met one little girl lately. Nausea boils in her stomach. “Saturday?”

Her daughter all but claps her hands, blissfully unaware of any evil. “Yeah! She’s really nice. Even if she likes those flower candies better than chocolate. It’s going to be awesome having her as a sister, mom.”

The blood rushing in Alex’s ears drowns out her daughter’s quick fire chatter. Saturday in Tesco’s. Little Sophie Chance. Little Sophie Chance is Linda’s niece. 

She can’t breathe. Her precious child, half a world away and utterly oblivious to the danger she’s in.

_Oh no_. _Please dear God, no_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next week lovelies!


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday again!

Matt’s heart pounds in his chest as he takes in the vision before him. Alex is leaning back against his front door, her hair wild and free down her shoulders and her eyes a sinful dark green. They’re so close together that with each breath she takes, her breasts brush against his t-shirt and god he’s going to combust before he gets to properly kiss her.

The anticipation coils in his stomach. He’s wanted this for so long and now he’ll finally, finally get to kiss her properly without the distractions and limitations of a script and forty people watching closely. It’s nerve-wrecking really. He’s fantasized about this for so long, the press of her lips against his, the taste of her, he almost chickens out. There’s nothing more terrifying than having something so badly desired within reach.

Alex makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat and then suddenly her hands are in his hair and his are in hers (and God her curls feel _amazing_ ). He leans down, not daring to breathe and as soon as his mouth touches hers, all anxiety disappears. Matt can’t contain himself, pressing her back into the door, his body flush against hers as his tongue sweeps her lips. Alex opens her mouth with a small sigh.

The taste of her bursts across his tongue, sweet and whole and Alex and he’ll never, ever get enough of her.

A knocking at the door startles them both, but he’s much too preoccupied with her to pay it much attention. “Ignore it,” he mutters against her lips before sweeping his tongue back inside her mouth. Alex moans, melting into him and he might just climb inside her if she’ll let him.

But the knocking soon morphs into pounding and while he’s happily ignoring it in favour of kissing Alex Kingston, Alex herself has other ideas. “We should probably see who that is,” she mumbles against his mouth.

“We really don’t.”

Moving in to kiss her again, Alex stops him with a hand to his chest. Suddenly her green eyes are shimmering with tears. “Matt, please help me.” He moves to grab her, ask her what’s wrong when she fades into nothingness like a disappearing Tardis.

The pounding on the door drowns out his shout of confusion.

Matt’s eyes snap open to a dark room and it takes him a moment to get his bearings.

A dream. Of course it was only a dream, isn’t it always? It’s amazing he can still look at her considering the things they’re doing in his dreams.

With a groan he rolls over to glance at the alarm clock. _1:15 am_ and he’s half-hard, perfect. Good luck going back to sleep now Smithers.

It’s only then that he registers the actual pounding reverberating through his little apartment. Bleary-eyed Matt forces himself from under the warmth of his sheets. He fishes a t-shirt from the pile of clothes near the bedroom door and makes his way through the semi-darkness while slipping it on. Who the hell is making all this ruckus in the middle of the night?

Eyes squeezed tightly shut against the sudden brightness, he flips on the light in his hallway and moves to unlock his front door.

He’s very much not prepared for the sight that greets him.

Alex Kingston is standing in front of him; hair a wild mess of curls and her eyes puffy and red. More so than usual, she looks as if she dressed haphazardly in the pitch black. She’s breathing much too quickly and stares at him with such a look of _panic_ he can practically feel the adrenaline being pumped into his system. “Alex?”

She blinks at him, visibly shaking. Opens her mouth, closes it and then opens it again, releasing a stream of English and German words he has no hope of comprehending while gesticulating wildly in the space between them. “I was going to take a cab, but _ich kann nicht_ – _und ich muss_ – _nach Hause fahren_. Now. Have to go now, _sie ihr was an tut_ \-- I can’t take a cab. It’s stupid. _Du bist doch beschauert_ Alex. I need yours. I have to go. She has my baby and if she… if she, oh god, hurts her… Matt, please, _gibt mir enfach dein Auto, bitte_. I’ll - _Ich werd_ – _ich hab keine ahnung_ , but I have to go. _Now_.”

“Calm down,” is the only sensible thing he can think to say.

Alex shakes her head violently. “ _Du verstehst das nicht_. I have to go. Matt, please. It’s her. All this time, she’s been behind it and now she has _meine Tochter_. I have to go before… before she…” She finishes on a broken sob. Pulling her skewed cardigan tighter around her waist, she tries to steady herself by taking a deep breath. “ _Wir haben keine Zeit_. I need your car, _please_.”

She flinches away from him when he moves to touch her, possibly hoping to pull her into a hug – he isn’t sure, doesn’t understand what’s going on, only that she looks as if her whole world just fell apart and she’s trying desperately to glue the pieces back together before all is lost. His chest aches for her as he fights against the contagious panic. “I don’t understand. What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

Barking out a painful laugh, fresh tears spring to her eyes. “There’s no time. I have to get to the airport. Just give me your keys.”

“You’re not driving in this state, Alex.”

“She has my daughter, Matt! Just give me your bloody keys!” He cringes at the sharp pitch in her voice and would gladly never have her glare in this way at him again. And then her words reach him and part of her tirade starts making horrible sense.

His heart drops to his stomach. “Salome?”

“Please. She doesn’t know – I have to, have to get her.”

“Okay, yes, right.” Shit. Salome is in trouble. No wonder Alex is so out of sorts. He ducks back into his apartment. “Follow me.”

“What are you doing? I don’t have time for this!” She’s nearly shrieking now and it’s nothing short of a miracle that the rest of the building hasn’t yet come to see what’s going on.

“I’m getting dressed,” he tells her calmly while feeling anything but. “Then I’m getting my keys and I’m driving you to the airport. That’s where you’re going, yeah?”

There’s still a good chance Salome is not in actual trouble. That whatever danger Alex is so afraid off is only in her mind. He’s not willing to risk it though and perhaps if he cooperates with her, she’ll calm down enough to at least tell him what’s wrong.

He keeps an eye on her while he changes into yesterday’s clothes. She’s pacing in his living room, shaking and frantically checking her phone, muttering to herself like a madwoman. This can’t just be a panic attack, can it? She’s too incoherently coherent. Panicked, yes, but not blindly so. She’s not screaming or crying and there appears to be a plan to her actions. “Why don’t you call her?” He asks quietly when he joins her in the living room. It’s like she can’t wrap her mind around whatever is happening and that makes him even more anxious in turn.

Alex barely spares him a glance. “Can’t. Might put her in more danger.”

Looking presentable enough for the middle of the night, Matt fishes his car keys and wallet from beneath a pile of scripts.

He expects her to calm down at least a little when he turns the ignition and slowly pulls out of the parking lot. And she’s trying to; tilts her head back against the chair and closes her eyes while taking a handful of deep, slow breaths.

It doesn’t appear to be working much.

Taking a deep breath himself to steady himself, Matt catches her wild eyes with his. “What’s going on, Alex?”

“It’s Linda,” she whispers in a heartbreakingly timid voice.

“Florian’s fiancée?”

“She has… Oh God, Matt, she has Salome.” Whatever small measure of composure she’d managed to find is lost again with her words. “If she hurts her…” she chokes back a sob and buries her face in her hands. Downtrodden curls mask her face and he’s this close to pulling over to the side of the road and wrapping her in his arms until she calms down and tells him what the hell is going on. As if she can read his mind, Alex tosses her head back and wrings her hands together. She urges him to keep driving. “I have to get home, before…”

“Why would Linda hurt Salome?”

“To hurt me.”

Involuntarily Matt tightens his grip on the wheel. An odd mixture of anger and sympathy rolls through him, mind racing to put the pieces together. After everything that’s happened, no one can blame her for being a bit paranoid. The emotional rollercoaster of being assaulted again and having to say goodbye to her daughter again must’ve taken its toll. Yes, that must be it.

This is a manifestation of PTSD, it has to be because the alternative – Salome truly being in danger – is too horrible to accept. But nagging in the back of his mind are the divorce papers, so oddly timed and the sudden custody agreement.

“I don’t think—“

“You don’t understand,” Alex cuts him off sharply. “She’s one of them. Linda is Joe’s sister-in-law.”

He looks at her slack-jawed. “What? How is that even possible?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. She has my daughter, Matt and if she realizes we know, God knows what she’ll do.”

It takes him a long minute to wrap his head around what she’s telling him. “Did you call the police?”

Swallowing audibly, she nods. “Ryland is coordinating with the LAPD. They’re going to monitor the house and arrest her as soon as they think Salome is safe. Maybe not until she goes to bed.”

“Sal doesn’t know?”

“I couldn’t tell her. What if Linda notices? Worst-case scenario she takes my daughter hostage. No, it’s better for Sal to know as little as possible.”

“What about Florian?” He feels like a prick for asking, for adding to her worries, but it’s a legitimate question, isn’t it? “Do you think he’s involved?”

“No. He’d never do anything to harm Salome.”

“Are you sure?” Because he isn’t. Admittedly, part of his distrust stems from his inability to get how anyone could walk out on someone like Alex.

Alex bites down on her bottom lip, reluctantly admitting, “the police aren’t. They’ll probably arrest him too until they figure it all out.”

“How could they have missed this?”

“Does it matter? All that matters is Salome’s safety. She has to be okay, that’s all I care about.”

He nods and allows the car to climb up to 75 mph, fighting hard against the desire to just floor it. But Alex needs him to get her to the airport in one piece, needs him to help ward off the panic and fear. For her, Matt can be calm – or at least pretend to be. Besides, even though his car can handle 150 mph, it won’t make the plane take off any sooner. “Do you have a ticket?”

“Not yet. My agent is working at it.”

Quickly turning over the contents of his wallet in his mind, he comes to a decision. “Tell her to get two.”

Her eyes snap to his. “What?”

“I’m coming with you. You shouldn’t have to do this alone, Alex. I want to help. Please?”

“I… Matt, I don’t…”

“You really want to sit in an airplane for eleven hours on your own right now?”

The right corner of her mouth twists up in a rueful grimace. “Not really.” And clearly she means it because she doesn’t argue the issue again, ducking into her phone to presumably text her agent.

“It’ll be okay,” Matt offers lamely when he spots her fighting back tears again. “She’ll be okay, Alex.”

Alex inhales sharply. “She’d better be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Magnolia for the German bits :-)


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the brevity of both the chapter and the lack of reply to comments. Life's a bit crazy at the mo' but I didn't want to miss a post. Anyway, on with the story!

The flight is sheer torture.

Alex’s agent managed to get both of them tickets and even adjoining seats. But during the flight they’re disconnected from the rest of the world and most awfully – from Salome.

Agent Janney who’d helped them back when Alex went missing, met up with them before take off and brought the news that the LAPD had Florian’s house under surveillance. As soon as Salome is in a different part of the house than her dad and stepmom, the officers will make their move and arrest both adults. If all goes well, Salome won’t even notice anything until after the fact, when a cop will take her to the station.

Alex, remarkably practical, had called her RADA-friend Claudia to stay with Salome at the police station.

But before Alex and Matt boarded they hadn’t heard anything else and on the plane, with nothing to do but wait, Alex was quickly losing the last of her composure. She was even paler than she’d been at the hospital after she’d been rescued and though she didn’t cry, Matt could tell how precariously close she was. Technically her Doctors hadn’t cleared her to fly yet, but he’d wisely not reminded her. Four hours into the flight however, he starts to worry about her health on top of everything else.

Her eyes are slightly crossed and she can’t quite focus on him when she looks at him. Her left hand is shaking, out of the sling for more than an hour for the first time in months. And mostly alarmingly, she keeps pinching the bridge of her nose as if trying to soothe a headache.

Of course when he asks, she insists she’s fine.

“We’re halfway over the Atlantic Ocean,” Matt points out quietly, “it’s not like they’re going to turn the plane around. Don’t try to be a hero, yeah?”

Her eyes meet his, shimmering pools of greens and blues carrying a weariness that tugs at his heartstrings. It looks as if she’s about to protest but then her shoulders sag and she sighs quietly. “It’s just a minor headache.”

“Maybe you should try and get some sleep.” Right eyebrow raised, Alex snorts. It’s a fragile, watery sound. “At least lie down for a bit,” he amends. Leading by example, Matt reclines his seat. When Alex follows suit he’s inexorably pleased.

From the corner of his eye he can make out her cloud of curls and her hands folded in her lap, fingers curled tightly around her phone. It’s useless of course, but he supposes any manner of comfort is most welcome.

And while Alex’s nerves keep her wide awake, for Matt it is something all together less acceptable. He can’t fall asleep right next to Alex Kingston and risk another dream.

He does anyway, jerking awake when Alex nudges his shoulder. “Matt, let me through.” His mind kicks into high gear immediately at the tension in her voice. He folds his legs in as tightly as possible and tries very, very hard not to let his eyes wander when she shuffles past him.

“What’s up?”

She looks back at him, dragging a hand roughly through her curls. “The police are calling.”

Instantly he’s on his feet. She doesn’t object to his presence, following the flight attendant in front of her to the front of the plane with purposeful strides. With his long limbs he easily catches up with them, aware but ignoring the stares they draw from their fellow passengers.

Once she spots it Alex all but runs to the phone. “Hello?” Matt watches her carefully, mindful to give her space and yet stay close enough should she need him.

“Yes, that’s me. Did you get her? Is my daughter safe?”

His stomach lurches when Alex turns to rest her back against the partition, shoulders sagging. She exhales slowly and lets her eyes fall shut for a long moment. “Can I talk to her?”

He follows her example and takes a deep breath too. Salome is safe then. Thank God.

“Hello Süssling.” Unable to do anything, Matt gives her what he hopes is an encouraging smile. Alex’s answering one trembles, tears visibly gathering in her eyes. “I’m on a plane, sweetheart. I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise. I love you, Salome. So much. And so does your dad, you know that, right?”

“I don’t know, love. But everything will be all right, I promise. Is Claudia with you?”

“Good, I’m glad. Give her a big hug, yeah?” Alex chokes back a sob. “I’m scared too, Süssling, but you’re safe now. The policemen and Claudia will look after you… I know you do Sal. Your Dad has to talk to the police for a bit first.”

Nervous energy expresses itself in Alex pacing a few steps back and forth in the narrow space. Matt is sorely tempted to join her, muscles vibrating with the need to do something. He can see her start to crumble under the strain of the last days now that Salome is apparently safe.

“He’s your dad, he loves you – always will. Immer und Ständing, no matter what.”

At that point the flight attendant takes a hesitating step towards her. “Ma’am…”

Alex swallows. “Right, yes, of course. Salome? I have to go now… No… yes, I’m sorry Süssling. I’ll – I’ll be there soon, yeah? I promise. I love you… bye my sweet.”

Visibly shaking, she turns to put the phone back on its hook, pausing for a moment to steady herself with her back to him and the flight attendant. “She’s all right,” she murmurs without looking at him, edging past them to trek back to their seats. “Shaken and scared, but she’s all right, she’s safe.”

Nodding at her back Matt follows her. He studies the line of her back and the set of her shoulders as they move through the aisle. She raises her chin, shoulders squared as soon as they step out into the cabin. Again people glance at them, possibly recognizing either of them and probably wondering what’s so important that they’re being called on a plane, but thankfully no one asks for an autograph. He’s not sure Alex could take that right now.

She sinks into her seat like an old woman, gingerly setting herself down and closing her eyes against the world. Matt stares at her a moment before sitting down as well. Even visibly exhausted and wrung out, she’s beautiful.

Watching her now is a test in patience and self-control. She’s fighting so hard to be strong, to keep everything together when an entire family has been trying to break her. It’s amazing. _She_ is amazing.

“If Florian has anything to do with this –“ Alex speaks suddenly, her voice wavering between tearful and resolved and it takes everything in him not to turn and look at her again. “If he put my daughter in harm’s way knowingly, so help me God, I will _never_ forgive him.”

“Do you think he might have?”

“I don’t know anymore. God Matt, you should’ve heard her. She’s terrified – of course she is. Her father has been arrested and her mother is half a world away.”

“You’ll be there as soon as you can,” he hurries to remind her. “It’s not like you could’ve seen this coming, Alex. You’re doing everything you can.”

“Fat lot of good it does. I can’t imagine how this will affect her. She’s always been a daddy’s girl. Until we separated she was hardly ever out of Flo’s sight.”

She speaks quietly and probably more to herself than to him, but he can hear the rising tension in her voice, the increasing frustration. “Alex—“

“I missed so much, working and now I put her father into jail. She’s my child, my only daughter what if she never—“

“Stop it.” Whether it’s him snapping, or him suddenly rolling onto his side to look at her or both that halts her doesn’t matter. What matters is that she should never, ever think like that. “Salome loves you, worships you really. It’s obvious to everyone. You’ve raised a brilliant kid. She’s polite and smart and confident and yes, Florian did that. But so did you and I will not sit here and listen to you claim differently.”

Alex peers at him with wide green eyes before chuckling awkwardly. “You’re very sweet.”

“I’m not saying it to be sweet. It’s the truth.”

She nods mostly to humour him, he thinks. But then something in her expression shifts and she tilts her head back to stare at the overhead compartments. “I’m terrified, Matt. Still. Sal is safe, Linda can’t get to her – I _know_ that, but I’m scared shitless.”

He reaches for her hand because he can’t survive another minute without touching her. Her skin is cold and clammy under his touch. “After everything that’s happened, I think you’re entitled.”

“What if it doesn’t go away?”

“It will,” and at least he sounds confident. Six hours until they land, an hour to make it to the police station after, he estimates. Seven hours until she gets to hold her daughter. He just needs to help keep her grounded until then.

No small feat considering they’re currently some 40.000 ft above the Atlantic Ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! The response has been amazing, I really can't thank you all enough or express how pleased I am at the various replies. Just hang in there a little bit longer. We're almost getting to the good part :)


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post. There was a party with booze and well - yeah...
> 
> Fair warning for disturbing language in this chapter.
> 
> Hope you like this!

By the time the plane has landed and they’ve secured a cab Alex is coming apart at the seams. He can hear her breathe shallow and quick to his left and her back is ramrod straight, her mouth set into a thin line. The tension rolling off her is almost a palpable, living thing.

She sucks in air through her nose when the car jerks into motion and grips the handle on the door with enough force to turn her knuckles white.

“Alex?”

“Fine,” she mutters hoarsely, “I’m fine. Perfectly okay. It’s just a cab. I’m fine.”

Just a cab. Shit. She hasn’t been in a cab with an unknown driver one since she’d been kidnapped. She jumps when he touches her upper arm, head snapping around to face him so fast he worries for a second her neck might snap. “You are fine,” Matt reassures her and tries to pull her against him. Not surprisingly, she flinches away from him. Determined, he tugs at her arm. “I’m here Alex, just let me…”

She resists him for another moment but then just when he is about to relent she lets him pull her into his side. His heart does a little back flip in his chest when she curls herself into his side, her left hand fisting weakly into his shirt.

For a second he can’t breathe. Her curls brush his cheek. They’ve lost some of their spring after the long and stressful night, and morning. And day, actually. It’s nearing noon in Los Angeles, but that means little to them. They’re still on London time where it’s evening again. And while he’s slept on the plane, he’s quite sure Alex hasn’t.

It’ll all be over soon now. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer still. Alex remains tense all through the ride, but her breathing slows down a little so he counts it as a win.

He knows they’re almost there when she pulls herself free from his embrace. Instantly he misses the warmth and weight of her, but that’s hardly important in the face of seeing Salome again. The cab hasn’t even fully stopped or Alex bolts out.

Matt hurriedly pays the driver and rushes after her.

He catches up with her just before an uniformed officer guides her into an elevator.

They step out two or three levels higher – he wasn’t really paying attention – into an almost deserted corridor. Then veer left into a small bullpen with six desks and a coffeemaker somewhere judging by the smell. On the far end of the space he spots Salome sitting in an office chair.

She’s turned away from them, head down and swinging her feet. Next to her, long legs folded underneath a similar chair and facing them, sits Claudia. As soon as she spots the officer and his entourage, she nudges Sal’s shoulder.

“Mummy!” In the blink of an eye and with a happy cry the teenager flings herself across the room and into her mothers arms. Alex nearly topples backward from the force of her daughter’s hug, but Matt is quick to steady her; one hand splayed across the small of her back, the other catching her right shoulder.

Alex squats down and wraps herself around her daughter, hands frantically petting at Salome’s hair and clothes. “Hello Süssling, oh I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, mummy.” Sal mutters between sobs, small hands fisted into her mother’s hair. “I was so scared. Can we go home now? Can daddy come with us? I want to go home, Mutti. _Bitte_.”

“We’re going home soon,” Alex promises softly. She holds on to her daughter for another long moment before gently disentangled herself.

With Sal’s hand firmly clasped in her own, she turns for a brief hug from Claudia before addressing the officer looming behind them. Her eyes are shining with tears, exhaustion clear in the set of her mouth and slope of her shoulders. Matt exchanges a nod with Sal’s temporary caretaker.

“We’d like to talk to you a minute before you take your daughter home, Ms. Kingston.”

Alex sighs. “Fine.” But as she attempts to let go of Salome’s hand, Salome begins to sniffle.

“Please don’t go Mummy. I just want to go home.”

“I know sweetheart, but I’ll just be a few minutes. I promise.”

But Sal shakes her head resolutely. “No.” Her wide brown eyes are watering and how can Alex every refuse her anything when she looks like that? Hell, she’s not even his kid and Matt would at this point gladly fall at her feet and promise her anything.

But mums are sensible, and Alex – despite everything – reluctantly but firmly transfers her daughter to Claudia. “I’ll be quick, Süssling. The sooner I talk to the police, the sooner we can go home, yeah?” After taking a moment to place a kiss on Sal’s forehead and wipe away her daughter’s tears, Alex straightens back up and lets the officer with them escort her to a different part of the station.

Salome turns to bury her face in Claudia’s side, sobbing dramatically. Equal parts exhaustion and fear, Matt guesses. “Chin up, Kid,” the tall woman nudges, “you haven’t even said hullo to The Doctor yet.”

“Don’t want to.”

Taking that as his cue, Matt pouts and works himself up into a dramatic monologue. “But I came all this way. Do you know how far Cardiff is? It’s a million, million miles away – and no Tardis either. No, I had to sit on a plane. Do you know how boring that is? And the movies – oh dear. _Legally Blonde_ or _Devil Wears Prada_. I’m a bloke, a proper bloke. I watch _Rambo_ and _Lethal Weapon_ and _Snow White_. Proper badass films.”

Despite herself, Salome giggles. “ _Snow White_ is a girlie movie, Matt.”

“No it isn’t.”

She lets go of Claudia to vigorously shake her head at him. Her dark curls bounce from left to right. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

Throwing him a grateful look and grinning along with them, Claudia steps forward. “All right kids, you’ve both made your point.”

In tandem, they turn to her and protest, him indignant, her laughing. “I’m not a kid.”

Pleased and more than a little proud to make Salome laugh, Matt pulls her into a quick hug and drops a kiss on her head as if he does so every day. “Hello, Poppet.”

“Hi Matty.”

Alex doesn’t reappear until twenty minutes later and while Matt and Claudia do their best to distract Salome, it’s clear the stress and lack of sleep are catching up with her. The sixth time Salome asks not so pleasantly where her mother is, Alex magically appears at the far end of the floor.

Matt tries to read her expression, but she’s got River Song’s mask of okayness well in place as she makes her way to them. Having spotted her mother too Salome races towards her, her babysitters dutifully following along.

In true movie-esque dramatic timing a door to his left opens just as the four of them converge in the centre corridor. A woman steps out, hands cuffed in front of her and a large police officer at her back. Matt spares her a cursory glance, noting the dishevelled chestnut hair and generous breasts. She doesn’t look like much of a criminal. Plain make-up and clothes but well-groomed.

He shifts his field of vision towards Alex, almost close enough to greet her.

“You stupid bitch,” an unfamiliar voice hisses. It takes him a moment to realize it’s the handcuffed woman speaking and another to realize who she is. “You should have bloody well died!” The woman lunges in Alex’s direction, such a look of hatred on her face she looks like something out of a horror movie. “Danny was supposed to get rid of you, you worthless cunt.”

Turning in shock, Alex has the presence of mind to quickly pull her daughter behind her and shuffle back. Linda doesn’t get close – the officer with her starts after her and grabs hold of her but that doesn’t stop her shouting expletives.

“Florian and Salome deserve so much better than _you_. Better than a whore of a wife who screws anything in front of a camera and a mother who finds her Hollywood-friends more important than her own daughter. You think you’re so perfect,” Linda screeches while the officer works hard to drag her back into the room they came from, “but you’re nothing. He loves _me_ now and Salome is going to be mine!”

When the ranting is muffled by a closed door Matt and Claudia slowly turn to face Alex. She is white as a sheet, her eyes shockingly wide and green. Without Linda’s high pitched screeching a heavy silence falls and nobody dares to speak or move until Salome tugs carefully on her mother’s cardigan. “Mum?”

Alex takes a slow, deep breath that sounds like it hurts but then she grabs her daughter’s hand and squares her shoulders. Her voice is soft but determined. “Let’s go home, Süssling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fortieth chapter, ACK!


	41. Chapter 41

In the middle of the night Matt finds himself sitting on the bottom steps of Alex’s staircase. He’d been asleep for a couple of hours, having finally succumbed to the jetlag around ten p.m. He’d attempted to find a hotel, but Alex had insisted he take the guestroom. He hadn’t really put up much of a fight.

After leaving the police station Alex had taken Salome, him and Claudia back to her house where they’d spent the remainder of the day playing games. Slowly he and Claudia had disengaged and left Alex and her daughter talking over what had happened.

Eventually Claudia had begged off and returned to wherever she was staying and Alex had shown him the guestroom. Her house is lovely. Surprisingly enough It is quite sparsely decorated with clean lines and large, romantic pieces of furniture made of dark woods and crème fabrics. Her couch is ridiculously comfortable. The whole building breathed the same earthy sense of _home_ he so appreciated in Alex herself.

He’d expected her home to be filled with knickknacks and pictures, but other than pictures of Salome and a collection of Sal’s drawings, the only other decorations with a few large, green plants and two abstract paintings above the couch.

Like her parents’ house, Alex’s open plan living room has large windows that overlook a well-kept garden and impressive terrace.

And all this time he’s secretly thrilling that he’s _here_ in her _home_.

The hall he is staring down now is by far the most chaotic part of the house – a rack bulging with coats and bags, a number of shoes more or less lined up against the wall. An old vanity stands underneath a huge mirror, it’s surface filled with keys and cards and various make-up items. He can picture easily how Alex would stop in front of that mirror before leaving her house and hurriedly touch up on her make-up, maybe run her fingers through her curls in a fruitless attempt to tame them.

He smiles into the dark.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the staircase creaks behind him. His heard thunders in his chest and he leaps to his feet, nearly tripping over them and tumbling to the floor. A quick action of his right hand – way to go rightie – saves him the embarrassment. Even so, from the top of the stairs Salome laughs sleepily at him.

“Forget you saw that,” Matt instructs half-heartedly while lowering himself back down. “What are you doing up, Poppet?”

With a timid shrug she hugs the stuffed animal in her arms closer and comes down the stairs until she’s just a step above him. She’s bare-footed, dressed in two halves of different pyjama-sets. A pink top with My Little Pony figurines scattered across it and dark blue, ankle length bottoms with silver polka dots. Her eyes are bleary and still half shut and her curls are sticking out at almost impossible angles.

She’s perfect.

“Had a bad dream.” Her voice is adorably scratchy and she finishes with a soft yawn.

Matt swallows hard, suddenly caught in a very real dream of his. “Ah. Want to talk about it?”

Sal shakes her head and pulls her knees up to her chest, curling in on herself. “No.”

Deciding not to push her, he lets the silence between them stretch and stretch until he wonders if maybe she’s fallen asleep. “Matty?”

“Yes kiddo?”

“Do you think my mum is okay? Linda said some really mean things.”

Not for the first time today he wishes fervently Salome hadn’t understood everything Linda had said – or why she’d said it. “I think your mum’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want Linda to be my mom. I already have a mom and Linda is wrong anyway. My mum is the best mom ever and I think it’s cool she gets to be on TV.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about Linda anymore,” Matt says confidently, heart warmed by Salome’s resolute proclamation.

She smiles back at him, but then her expression crumbles and she casts her eyes down, picking at the fabric stretched across her bony knees. “Does my dad have to stay in jail? Mom said he doesn’t, but I heard what Linda said, Matty. She wants my mum to die. What if dad does too?”

What the hell is he supposed to say to that? Alex would defend her ex-husband, refusing to allow her daughter to think bad of him. He rather loves that about her, but how fair is it? Salome is looking at him expectantly, such trust in her eyes he can’t bring himself to lie to her. “What do you think?”

“He gets mad at her sometimes. He doesn’t like it when I stay with her or when she doesn’t give him the money he wants and he doesn’t love her anymore. But he loves me, I know that, and I don’t _ever_ want mum to die, so he doesn’t either, right Matty?”

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Matt nods. “I think you’re right, kid.”

“Good.” She nods once before giving in to a long yawn. “I think I can go back to sleep now.”

He watches her climb back up the stairs on her bare feet, considering for a moment what it would be like to be a more permanent – crucial part of her life. Salome is a brilliant kid and they get on well. Sighing wistfully, Matt decides to raid the kitchen for some tea before attempting to go back to sleep.

He stops dead in his tracks when he comes face to face with Alex. She’s standing in the archway leading to the kitchen, most of her face obscured by the shadows of night. Her curls, faintly lit by the moonlight streaming through the large windows behind her, give her away.

“I – ah, I just thought I’d get some tea – I thought you were asleep.” Realizing how that might sound, he hurries to clarify himself. Getting more flustered still when she doesn’t immediately put him at ease. How does she do this to him? “Not that – you know, it matters. It’s your house, innit? So obviously you’re perfectly allowed to – feel free to stop me any time, please.”

Fidgeting nervously on the balls of his feet, he works very hard to keep his mouth shut. After a handful of torturous moments, Alex scrapes her throat, voice wavering. “I did tell you to make yourself at home.”

“You okay, Kingston?”

“Couldn’t sleep either,” she admits, leaving no doubt as to whether she heard him talking to Salome.

“Have you tried?” His own forwardness takes even him by surprise and Alex too stares at him with wide eyes, mouth half open.

After a second she snaps her mouth shut, moving back into the kitchen when he approaches. She doesn’t move fast enough however and the shadows shift across her face to let him see her reddened eyes and the tear tracks running down her cheeks.

His breath whooshes out of him. “ _Alex_.”

She waves at him – presumably to shut him up – and quickly turns her back to him. “’m fine.”

“You’re not. Of course you’re not.”

She makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

God, he can’t be the one to make her cry. Reluctantly he backs off and offers her a way out. “I was just going to get some tea, want some?”

“I’ll make it,” Alex says hurriedly. “Can’t risk you setting fire to the kitchen, can I darling?”

“Oi! You wound me, Kingston.”

After a moment she turns to start the task she’s set herself. She meets his eyes briefly, her smile trembling around the edges. She’s holding herself together admirably, but just barely. He knows she hasn’t slept yet, not here and not on the plane either. Being awake for thirty-six hours has its effects on anyone, let alone on Alex after the stress and panic of the last few days – not to mention the knife wound on her side and her still healing shoulder.

She appears to be coping well, bustling around her kitchen to make them both a cuppa, but Matt can tell she’s scattered. There’s a manic kind of energy rolling off her – a palpable need to keep moving and she’s looking in cupboards and drawers as if she’s never seen this kitchen before, fumbling around in the thin light of the moon.

“Make yourself comfortable on the couch, Matt. The tea will be ready soon.”

“Yeah all right.” He fully intends to follow her suggestion and give her the space she clearly desires, but a part of him hesitates after the first step. Looking back is his undoing.

Alex is slumped over the counter, leaning heavily on her hands and she’s allowed her head to drop forwards. After a moment she shifts to her right to take the weight off her injured shoulder. It leaves Matt staring at the line of her back and God help him, because he can’t leave her like this. Not even to go into the adjacent room.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when he gingerly touches her shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’m right here, Alex. Just let me…”

“The tea is almost done.” She pushes herself up straight and mucks about with the mugs in front of her just to not have to look at him.

“Alex.”

“It’s chamomile. I hope you don’t mind. I can leave yours to steep a while longer if you prefer.”

“ _Alex_.”

“Oh, and there are biscuits in the pantry. I’ll just—“

“ _Alex_!” Surprised by his sharp hiss, Alex forgets she’s trying to hide from him and whirls around to face him. He catches her by her elbow before she can turn away once more. “You’re allowed to fall apart.”

She swallows hard. “I can’t.”

“What you’ve been through – what that woman has put you through – no one is that strong.”

Her curls brush his cheeks when she shakes her head. Her eyes gleam with tears in the faint light, heartbreakingly bewitching. “You don’t understand. Matt, I _can’t_ …” Breath catching she trails off and tries to move away from him.

“God, Kingston. Of course you can. You are amazing, you’ve been so incredibly strong – but it’s over now. You’re safe. Salome is safe. You don’t have to be strong anymore. It’s okay to cry.” He can feel himself blush under her wide-eyed stare. Did that really just come out of his mouth?

Alex opens her mouth to say something – possibly kick him out – but no sound comes out.

When she finds her voice again, it’s stripped of that manic edge. “You don’t understand. It’s not, it’s just.” A strangled sob escapes her control, followed by a quiet sniffle. Defeated, she hangs her head. “If I cry now, I’ll never stop.”

“That’s okay too.” Gently he tugs her closer to him still and suddenly she flings her arms around him and presses herself as close to him as possible. His brain short circuits for a moment – they’ve hugged before, he’s held her as she cried before, but the desperation with which she slots her body against his, the way she clutches at him for comfort and safety – **him** – this moment in the middle of the night in her kitchen, it is the most important moment. This is when she _needs_ him.

She cries without making a sound, shoulders shaking and her ribcage expanding almost painfully with each sharp intake of breath. He wraps his arms tightly around her waist and buries his face in her curls. “It’s okay to let go. Everything will be okay. You will be okay, Alex. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, the numbers on this thing are amazing. So many kudos and reviews, I'm utterly astounding and so very grateful for everyone taking the time to read, kudo and/or comment, it's amazing! I can only hope you'll keep enjoying this story and its twisted plot


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of a placeholder chapter, I apologize. Life is just ridiculously busy at the moment and I didn't want to miss a deadline. Hope it'll tie you over until next week!

Waking the next morning is an odd affair. There’s a ridiculous amount of light pounding against his eyelids and when he gives in and allows himself to be dragged into the light of day there are two things that confuse him. One: this isn’t his house. His eyes as well as his ears tell him that. There isn’t any wall in that crème colour in his apartment. And the last time he woke up to the sounds of a lively kitchen was when he stayed over at his parents’. Two: this also isn’t his bed. For one, it’s softer. Secondly, it’s a single, which he finds out when rolling over turns into tumbling out of.

Scrambling upright, the reason he’s not in his own bed, or house, or _country_ comes rushing back to him. Alex.

Holy shit, he’s in Alex Kingston’s house.

And he has nothing to wear. Doing a double take at his unfamiliar surroundings he finds yesterday’s clothes thrown haphazardly on a small chair by the window. He never packed, flew halfway across the world with nothing but the clothes he had on and his wallet.

Scrubbing at his face, he decides to go for a shower before worrying about what to wear and how to shave. He doubts Alex took much notice of his clothes anyway. And god, what is she doing to him that he even _cares_?

Then he remembers standing with her in her kitchen just hours ago. Alex folded into his arms until she fell asleep against his chest and he knows exactly what she’s doing to him.

All through his shower his face can’t quite decide between grinning like an idiot or blushing like one. He took her to bed last night after she’d all but cried herself to sleep in his arms. Led her up the stairs and into her bedroom, lingered for a wretched moment as she started to take off her clothes. To make sure she wouldn’t fall over from sheer exhaustion, to make sure she wouldn’t fall asleep in her clothes. To allow himself a small measure of hope and opportunity. For her to realize that he was right there and would happily hold her through the night. Any night. Every night. _This_ night.

But he knew he’d been hoping for too much, too soon. So he murmured a soft good night to her back and trudged back to the guestroom.

It’s only ten a.m. he notices when stepping back into his room. Hopefully the flowery shampoo he poured into his hair will at least somewhat mask any odours coming of his clothes. But he could really do with some aftershave, a razor and deodorant. Alex’s guest bathroom is well stocked with feminine products but lacks male counterparts. He’s rather pleased about that, until he realizes she could keep those in her own bathroom. Suddenly his chest aches.

He hurriedly gets dressed to avoid those thoughts and all but runs downstairs on his bare feet. No one should be subjected to his dirty socks this early in the day.

Well before he reaches the kitchen his stomach begins to growl in response to the unmistakable smell of pancakes that meets him mid-staircase, accompanied by Salome’s excited chattering. His heart lurches painfully at the domesticity of it.

The out-of-place elation only lasts until Alex appears in his sight. She’s smiling hollowly, dark circles under her eyes that even a heavy layer of concealer hasn’t been able to hide. Her curls are pulled into a messy ponytail, rebellious locks escaping left and right. There’s an impressive heap of pancakes steaming on the countertop. She must’ve been up for ages. Damn it.

The first to notice him is Claudia. She looks as if she never left, comfortably leaning her long frame against the arch leading to the kitchen. Her bright blue eyes narrow almost imperceptibly when she glances over her shoulder and nods a greeting, a warning in her gaze Matt can’t quite decipher.

“Morning,” he greets the three women, pulling up next to Alex’s friend. It’s not often that he’s standing next to a woman taller than him, but with her high heels, Claudia has him beat by at least two inches.

Alex smiles at him. It’s a watery smile still, but it’s genuine and very much relaxed and Matt finds himself breathing a little easier for it. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah. Good bed. Did you?”

“Well enough,” Alex hedges, but she doesn’t look away or try to distract him. His stomach does a little summersault. She’s not hiding. “I’m almost done, grab a seat.”

“Smells delicious.” After a brief moment of deliberation, Matt grabs the stool next to Salome, leaving the two chairs opposite of them free for the two women.

The European-style pancakes are delicious, thin and every so often laid in with bacon or apple slices. The latter ones especially are quite popular. Salome chats away to the three of them, casting furtive glances at her mother whenever she brings up Florian.

Claudia engages her easily, asking questions about school and her friends and Matt occasionally finds himself pulled into the conversation as well. Alex however barely speaks a word. She picks at her food but hardly eats and her eyes are dull and unfocused.

He’s not the only one who notices, Claudia is staring at her friend with clear concern written across her features. There’s something else flickering in her eyes that Matt can’t quite pinpoint and it gives him the same queasy feeling as her greeting earlier had done. Now he’s getting paranoid.

But fine, he’ll find a way to talk to Alex alone. He doesn’t have to leave for San Diego until early tomorrow morning. There’s time.

Except there isn’t.

Alex doesn’t let Salome out of her sight the entire day. Claudia disappears for a couple of hours after breakfast, citing a meeting nearby. She pops back in around two, amazingly with clean clothes for him, deodorant and a razor – and still Matt hasn’t found a moment to really talk to his co-star.

Florian is still in jail and according to Alex’s latest briefing will remain there until the police have sussed out exactly how he fits into Linda’s horrible plan. Did she manipulate or fool him too, or had he been a willing – perhaps even enthusiastic – participant?

The last possibility doesn’t bear thinking about.

For the most part Salome seems to be okay. She doesn’t let her mother out of her sight either, but she is remarkably composed and calm about her father being in jail – only occasionally asking about him or talking about how she experienced the police arresting him and Linda.

To Matt that seems like a good thing, but he notices Alex fretting increasingly. She tries to coax her daughter to talk about what happened and the more Salome clams up, the more Alex worries. It’s Claudia who finally takes her aside and apparently talks some sense into her because when the two women step back inside the living room, Alex looks a little more at ease.

Dinner is a quiet affair, mostly because everyone is still recovering from the stress and lack of sleep. Matt keeps an anxious eye on his host. He can feel time running out, his heart drumming a countdown.

Whatever he has to say – and honestly he isn’t exactly sure what he has to say – it needs to be tonight. But in spite of the increasing anxiousness thrumming through his veins, the hours slip by. And it’s not like it’s awful or feels like a waste of time. He loves listening to stories of a younger Salome, a younger Alex.

Alex and Claudia carefully keep their stories to a PG-rating, he notices. Notices too how artfully Claudia dances around the subject of Ralph. She must have known them then, seen them together and that makes him both a little jealous and a little relieved.

Should anyone ask; he’s a complicated guy.

The upside of having travelled so light is that he doesn’t need to worry about packing and dependable Arthur is bringing some clothes from Matt’s apartment with him to Comic Con. So while Alex is putting her daughter to bed, all Matt has to do is strip his guest bed of its sheets and find a bag for his dirty clothes. He’s just contemplating whether a simply plastic shopping bag will do when there’s a knock on the door. “I’m decent!”

“Thank the Heavens,” Claudia comments dryly when she lets herself in. “I’m heading off, thought I’d be well-mannered and say goodbye.”

“You are?”

She quirks a thin eyebrow at his hopeful tone.

“Right, sorry – I didn’t mean…” Her laughter makes him halt his apology. “I just thought you’d stay.”

Something sad and wistful flashes in her eyes and again there’s the little twist in his gut. He’s missing something, something significant. “Sleepovers are a thing of the past.” She says it lightly, but her eyes flick away from him for a moment and suddenly he realizes exactly why that expression he saw on her face this morning bothered him.

He knows that expression – seen it in the mirror too often. “You…”

Claudia interrupts him before he can say something stupid. “I’ve know Alex for a long, long time. Give her time to heal, but don’t let her discourage you and you’ll be fine. You’re a good man, Mr. Smith.”

“Uhm, thanks.” Truthfully, he’s a little too caught up in his thoughts to fully appreciate what she’s telling him – and truthfully his thoughts are embarrassingly base. She loves Alex the way he does. Or well, not quite he supposes, she’s known her so much longer – more intimately? – than him. Not to mention he’s a guy on a bit of a dry spell; he can’t help where his thoughts take him.

Awkwardly he scrubs at the back of his neck to distract himself.

It doesn’t work.

_Come on Smith, you’re an adult. You’re above this._

Determinedly, he meets Claudia’s gaze. “You’re staying in LA for a bit, yeah?”

“Two weeks, three if I can sell it at home.”

At home. He goes over his memories. He knows Claudia has children and a partner, but that’s about it. He never thought to ask, but now his curiosity is burning. Right, not the point right now. “Could you let me know how she’s doing?”

Her mouth quirks. “I’d think you’d keep in touch.”

“Of course.” It’s almost a bit of an admission of incompetence when he makes himself explain. “It’s just… she hides, y’know?”

Eyes softening, Claudia nods. “Yes. Two steps forward, one step back. She’s always been like that.” For some reason that surprises him and it must show on his face, because she smiles at him in a slightly pitying way. “With Alex it’s either head over heals, or steady as she goes – and I never gave any of her other interests tips like this, so you’d better not screw it up.”

She slips out of the room before he can think of a reply. Staring at the door, he suddenly realized what she just said.

 _Any of her **other** interests_.

He is an interest?

 _Seriously_?

His heart threatens to burst with elation and relief and the mad energy coursing through his veins has to be expressed somehow. And oh hell, Alex is interested in him – _her_ , in _him_ – _yes_.

That calls for a fist pump and when that is not enough to expel the thrill, he allows his limbs a few moments of freedom, jerking out every which way until a snort coming from behind him crudely interrupts his celebrations.

He whips around so quickly he nearly looses his balance and comes face to face with a smiling Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading and taking the time to share your thoughts! Your reviews are amazing :)


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for missing a week. Stuff happened and I just didn't have the time to properly edit or post. Still don't, really (can't even watch the 50th! dammit) but I didn't want to skip yet another week. 
> 
> So here, have an angsty, fluffy, longish update
> 
> Hope you're all enjoying the 50th (hoping so hard for a surprise River appearance). Should you comment (and oh I hope so!) please take into consideration I won't watch it until tomorrow
> 
> Anyway, on with the story!

Matt swallows hard as he stares into Alex’s bright eyes. He’s always been a sucker for her eyes – the way they shift between greens and blues and greys, how they allow him a peak into her soul and God that’s cheesy but with Alex… It’s her whole face, really. From the bump on her nose to the lines around her eyes to the corners of her lips, perpetually tugged into a half smile. But her eyes, she tells entire novels with her eyes: comedies and tragedies, dirty secrets and epic romances.

Right now she looks at him with indulging amusement, tainted by the smallest sliver of apprehension. “Come and have tea?” She’s barely finished the question when he sees her catching herself. Her hands dance restlessly in the space between them. “Unless you want to go to sleep of course. You haven’t had much sleep and you have an early flight, so if you want to go—“

Somehow her rambling puts him at ease. “’m not tired.”

“—to sleep, that’s—“

“Alex.”

“—perfectly fine.”

“I’d love some tea.”

She blinks at him. He can tell by the way she quickly turns away from him that she’s admonishing herself. It aches to see her so unsure of herself – or perhaps _aware_ is the better term.

He’s noticed it before in interviews mostly – the moments when she’d catch herself, suddenly conscious of the camera, her hands, the things coming out of her mouth. Disbelief if he reads it correctly, that people could be interested in the things she has to say, mild irritation that they are.

They settle at the kitchen table, watching the start of sunset outside and their faint reflections in the large windowpane. There’s a robust, wildly coloured teapot between them and Alex had grabbed both of them a glass.

Matt studies her distorted reflection and notices she keeps flexing the fingers of her left hand. “Is your arm bothering you?”

“Just a bit tingly,” Alex admits.

“And your head?”

“Matt.”

“Alex.”

She holds his eyes for a moment longer, then sighs and looks away, hiding behind her curls. “Not as bad as my side.”

Well, he did ask. “You should get some rest.”

“It’s not like I’ll be able to sleep. Just talk to me for a bit, will you?”

“What time did you get up this morning?”

Her eyes flash. “About something else.”

His fingers twitch against his warmed-up glass. “God, you’re stubborn,” he blurts. “You’re healing, Alex, you need to sleep.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“You’re not even trying.”

“Matt, I appreciate the concern, but I don’t need a babysitter okay?” She looks down at her glass, her entire frame radiating the same tension as her voice.

The sharpness of her tone stabs at his heart. It’s not even twenty-four hours ago that he held her against him in this kitchen while she cried. Two steps forward, one step back indeed. He takes a deep breath, eyes still on her forehead. “That’s not – I’m not… I’m just trying to help.”

“I know,” she allows softly, “but it’s not that simple.”

He can’t help but bristle at the implication. “Don’t you think I know that?” Her eyes shoot up in surprise. Part of him is aware that this isn’t the time – that he shouldn’t put this on her shoulders as well, but his voice is already carrying the frustration, the fear that’s been with him all this time and it’s too late to swallow it down again. “I still have nightmares where we find you too late, where we don’t find you at all. Those images haunt me. Seeing you in that hospital, covered in bruises, _broken_ , that haunts me. And I know that’s only a fraction of what you must be going through, but shit Alex, I’ve never felt so helpless – so _afraid_. No, it’s not simple, but at least let me help!”

The sudden anger drains from him when he dares to meet her gaze again. Her eyes are wide and wet, soft but with a steel gleam – focused at some point in the empty space between them, as if she’s not really here. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, I don’t need help.”

Feeling like a bit of a prick Matt runs his fingers through his hair, trying hard not to give in to disappointment or frustration. Breaking through nearly half a century’s worth of habits and emotional walls takes time even without additional trauma. But knowing that doesn’t necessarily make it easier to deal. After a calming sip of tea, he says at length: “if you really want to do this alone, that’s your prerogative.”

“I can—“

“I know you can. That’s not the point, Alex.”

They stare at each other for a long while, her green-and-blue eyes betray uncertainty and irritation, but Matt finds he’s okay with that. Her agitation brings a spark to her eyes he’s missed dearly without even realizing it. “Fine.” Alex huffs, narrowing her eyes at him and crossing her arms. “I’ll bite. What’s the point then?”

With some effort he bites back a small smile and keeps his gaze level with hers. “The point is you don’t have to.”

Almost immediately she softens, although he can see the struggle in her eyes, as if she’s angry with herself for letting go of her irritation. _She’s always been like that_ , Claudia had told him and he wonders – why? And why hadn’t he noticed before all of this? In the early days of their friendship, the early days of him being The Doctor when his world had been spinning out of control, he’d tried to reconcile Alex Kingston with her characters. The sassy Doctor Laura had been so fond of, the charmingly conniving wench half of Britain had lusted after – still did, probably.

They weren’t Alex, but he knew as well as any other actor that the best roles also expose part of yourself. And Alex, well, she was one of those actors who could make you believe they were their character. He’d seen her do it often enough as River; step so completely into character it takes her a while to step out of the role after shooting is done. Even in interviews it’s never really, wholly her.

But lately he’s come to realize that even off set and out of character – warm and open, full of encouragement and advice – Alex holds back. That there’s a part of her she doesn’t show to anyone but her closest family and friends. She doesn’t even appear to be aware of this herself and he wants to ask her why, _why are you hiding_ and _have you really always done so or is this a product of two failed marriages, of a lifetime pretending to be other people_. _How much damage did the Chances do?_

Because more than anything he wants to be part of that inner circle – wants to know her inside out, upside down.

The unholy sound of wood scraping against the stone kitchen floor pulls him from his thoughts.

“Why are you doing this?” At his questioning gaze she gestures wildly between them. “This – all of this really. We’re friends, but not such good friends.”

He’s still not quite sure what she’s on about. Carefully keeps his voice even. “What if I want to be?”

“Do you?”

With a slight blush on his cheeks Matt turns from her narrowed gaze. “No. Not quite,” he admits softly.

“So what is all this then? An elaborate play to get into my bed?”

Her words shoot through him, shock in their wake. His body jerks, quickly ejecting him from his seat.

Alex moves after him into the living room, her voice distraught. “Fuck, sorry. I didn’t mean – I don’t why I said that. Matt, I’m sorry, I know –“

Taking a deep breath he steadies himself and turns abruptly to face her, calmer than he’d been a second ago. “Defence mechanism. Two steps forward, one step back.”

Relief passes over her features, but then something visibly clicks in her mind and eyes narrow dangerously. “That’s what Claude always says.”

Matt shrugs noncommittally. “We talked.”

“About me.”

“Alex, she’s just trying to help. She loves you.”

She flinches, turns to pace behind the smaller of the two couches, limping slightly. “That’s none of your business.”

“God, why are you being so difficult!?”

“Why are you putting up with me if I’m so difficult?”

“Because I care!”

“Well you shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

With her back turned to him now he can still see the tension radiating off her and decides to push. Clearly too much has gone unsaid between them.

“Alex, why shouldn’t I care about you? _Tell me_.”

“Because I can’t do this Matt. I can’t give you what you want from me. I’m barely holding my life together as it is and isn’t that just hilarious? I honestly didn’t think there was much left to ruin – that things couldn’t get much worse, but clearly I was wrong. I was happy most of the time, you know. Even with two failed marriages, a dwindling career, too much time away from my daughter. But now…” she laughs sharply, painfully, tone manic. “Flo is in jail, someone’s tried to _kill_ me and I wake up every morning with the memories – the physical marks of what he did to me and I don’t know yet how any of this has affected my daughter.”

“So let me help.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Alex, I want to –“

“I know,” she interrupts with a trembling voice. She halts her pacing to meet his eyes for a brief second before resuming her unsteady gait. “You’ve been amazing and very sweet, steady. God, Matt, you flew across half the world on a whim and I honestly can’t thank you enough for that. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? As much as you and Claudia can help – have helped – you won’t be here in the morning. You say I don’t need to do this alone, but I _do_.”

“So I’ll stay.”

Again she freezes in her tracks, mouth half open in shock. “W-what?”

Matt shrugs. “I’ll stay.”

“You can’t.”

But hope rises in her eyes, trips her voice and he steps closer to her. “Sure I can. Steven will understand, I’m sure.”

Her curls nearly hit him in the face when she shakes her head vigorously. “No Matt, I need to be alone for a bit and you…” she gives him a haunting smile, “you have your own life and it’s about time you got back to it.”

“Trying to get rid of me, Kingston?” Both of them cringe at the failed attempt at levity. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut that she’s gently but firmly nudging him not just out of her house, but out of her life as well. He gets why. It makes sense she feels she needs to take back her life somehow, her independence – he just wishes she could see she never lost either.

He watches her raise her hand, frozen in place. The shock of warmth when her fingers touch his jaw takes his breath away as much as the regret in her green eyes does. “I can’t give you what you want from me.”

“I don’t want anything – well, I _do_ …” and again he falls short, failing to keep the wistfulness out of his words. “But I won’t ask for anything you’re not ready for. Just know…” Words fail him. How can he possibly put into words the way she makes him feel? That exhilarating mess of love and devotion, mixed with frankly a terrifying sense of destiny. How can he explain his fascination with her, his love for her filthy sense of humour and haunting vulnerability. He aches to hold her, kiss her, _love_ her. And none of that can be properly put into words.

His heart beats wildly in his chest as he raises his hand to her cheek, fingers trailing her oh so soft, warm skin. He fights the urge to kiss her, closing his eyes against the need that nearly overwhelms him.

Throat constricted, tears pricking behind his eyelids. “Alex, I…”

And then – the soft press of her lips against his.

His heart stutters. _It’s not real_. Eyes firmly shut he allows himself to believe for a moment. Of their own accord his fingers slide to her neck – oh, _real_ – and pull her more firmly against him. She gives in easily, a tiny sound in the back of her throat that cuts through him and settles in his heart.

An answering groan worms its way up his throat. The tips of his fingers buried in her glorious curls, his heart trying to climb out of his chest to be closer to her still and he can’t – can’t help himself, parts his lips and brushes his tongue gently, questioningly along her bottom lip.

Alex parts her lips after a beat, the taste of her bursting across his tongue. It’s all he can do not to devour her. With some impressive self-control, he explores her instead with gentle strokes of his tongue, tasting all she’s offering. For a while he didn’t think he’d ever get to kiss her again, but here he is. Here they are.

And best of all, this time she kissed him.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, it's Saturday!

She kissed him.

Matt reminds himself of this fact frequently when he is in San Diego and later when he’s back in the mother country. After, they talked into the early hours of morning, moved outside to watch the sun rise over the Hollywood hills.

Every time he thinks about that night, his chest fills with an aching warmth. And they never really talked about the subject of _us._ Instead they talked about the preceding months, the fears they’d both been confronted with. Alex’s worries about her recovery and her daughter. They talked about life in LA, _Who_ without Arthur and Karen, new upcoming projects.

He thinks about her often – possibly too often – he hasn’t seen her since.

Alex made him promise before he left her home that morning that he wouldn’t wait. And as much as it hurt to hear her say the words; they weren’t in a relationship. She cared for him, yes, was attracted to him, yes, but after everything that happened she didn’t trust her own mind or heart.

Her eyes had held such conflict when she explained herself, it had been a bit of a cold shower. But he understood – understands still – doesn’t want to start anything that may be based on muddled desires or on fear to be alone.

It is the hardest and yet the easiest thing he’s ever done. To be her friend.

She doesn’t reach out to contact him other than the occasional e-mail or text to keep him updated on Florian’s release and the charges against Linda. Thankfully, Claudia keeps him in the loop on Alex’s state of mind, but had been understandably reluctant to share details. He feels better just knowing someone was looking after her, but still doubt settles in his head.

What if she would never love him back?

As much as that terrifies him, he can’t help but admire her strength and determination to feel whole again before falling into bed with him or anyone else. He’s not sure he would have the strength if their positions had been reversed.

But then from his end everything is pretty clear-cut, isn’t it? He’s had a long time to wrap his head around his feelings for her. In one way or another he’s been waiting for a while now, sure of his feelings and what he wants.

For Alex it’s not that simple. He has no idea if she had feelings for him before, never asked. And after a few days of sulking, he suddenly realizes how selfish it is to put it all on her shoulders.

So as much as it pains him, he makes an effort. Goes out with his friends, chats to random birds. In the end it all ends the same way – they fawn over him, eye lids batted, voices full of promises, but never quite the way he wants them to. They lack Alex’s naughty laugh, her magical curls. They see only the actor in him, the money and not the flawed man beneath.

So when nearly three weeks after Comic Con his phone rings, screen lit up by Alex’s ID, his stomach summersaults. He nearly chokes on a mouthful of pasta – unable to decide between spitting it out or swallowing as quickly as possible. The bowl of food and his plate and glass wobble precariously as he lunges across the small salon table to grab his phone. By the time he accepts the call, Matt is out of breath, the bottom of his shirt is soaked in pasta sauce and there’s a neat puddle of water slowly expanding to the edge of the table. “Alex, hi!”

There’s a brief pause and then for the first time in far too long, her voice. “Hello Matt. Did I call at a bad time?”

Quickly, he shakes his head. “Not at all. Just finished dinner, actually.”

“Good. How are you, then?”

God, he knew he missed her, but her voice alone makes his skin tingle. She sounds good, he thinks. A little hesitant and slightly hushed as if she’s worried someone might overhear. There’s no background noise however, so she must be somewhere private. It’s what, 11 a.m. in L.A.? Maybe she’s sitting at her kitchen table, still dressed in her nightclothes, a soft bathrobe draped over her shoulders and a steaming cup of tea in front of her, enjoying a slow morning.

“Matt?”

Shit. “Sorry, I—“

“If this is a bad time.”

He nearly trips over his tongue. “No, no, I just got distracted for a sec.”

“You sure know how to flatter a girl, Mr. Smith.” The amusement is evident in her voice but doesn’t entirely cover the hint of uncertainty. He can’t very well tell her what distracted him – _geez, Alex, I was just imagining you in your bathrobe and how much I would love to sit next to you and slide my hand up your thigh_ – yeah no, that would fall in the category of too much, too soon. But his lack of reply doesn’t go unnoticed and when Alex speaks again she can’t quite hide the vulnerability that’s crept to the surface. “So, uhm, how are you, Matt?”

Mentally kicking himself, he tries to put her at ease. “Good. Just, y’know, good. It’s nice to have some downtime, catch up with family and friends and stuff.” _Christ Smithers, how lame_ are _you?_

“Glad to hear, you’ve certainly earned a break. I hear Comic Con was a success.”

Grinning at the memories he settles himself more comfortably on the couch, feet propped up against the table. “Yeah, I think Steven was ready to throttle us by the end of the first day, but the fans loved it.” The _missed you though_ goes unspoken.

Alex laughs softly. It’s easy to picture the look of fond amusement she’s probably wearing. He loves that look on her. “I’m sure.”

“What about you, Kingston? How’ve you been?”

After a beat she answer entirely too nonchalantly – and he knows exactly how she’s waving her free hand in a gesture of dismissal – “I’ve been fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Really.” He waits her out this time. With a heavy sigh, she surrenders. “Better than I’ve been in a while. It’s been nice to have time with Sal and now that Linda has been officially charged it feels like I can finally move on.”

“But it’s not that simple.”

Her sharp intake of breath tells him she caught the reference. “No, it’s not. Matt, I never meant to imply—“

“Hush, that’s not what I meant. How are you _really_ , Kingston?” His heart skips a beat at the strangled noise she makes. What he wouldn’t give to be able to hold her right now.

“Honestly, I’m grateful for the NCIS-job. I don’t think I can spend another minute listening to Florian’s apologies.”

He snorts a little at that. “Still, it must be an immense relief that he’s been cleared.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if he’d been involved. How the hell could I have explained that to Salome? It’s been difficult enough to explain why the wedding won’t happen now.”

“I can’t imagine. And the nightmares?”

The noncommittal noise she makes really says it all.

“Are you sleeping at all?”

“Enough to make sure the make-up artists don’t burst into tears at the sight of me.”

He laughs politely and cringes at how forced it sounds, cringes too at the faux-cheer in her voice. She’s not lying and isn’t it just Alex to worry more about the make-up artists than her health. “I worry about you,” he admits in a moment of unguarded honesty.

Silence reigns for a painfully long time, interrupted only by the soft sounds of her breathing. “You don’t have to, really. The sling came off for good today and the stitches in my side came out as well. Haven’t had a headache for almost a week either. I’m doing fine, darling.”

Surprisingly Matt finds himself breathing a little easier at the familiar endearment. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. “You must be pleased.”

“Hmm, the scars will be negligible too, easily masked at least. Small favours yeah?” She chuckles darkly. Unbidden his thoughts stray to her hip and the wound there. Will he be able to feel it when his fingers map her skin, see it when she wears only underwear? Quickly he shakes those presumptuous thoughts off, blushing slightly. “The dreams will fade too.”

“What are they about?” He knows he’s treading on thin ice, especially considering he’s half a world away and unable to read her expression or gestures – unable to comfort. Anxiously he awaits Alex’s response. Is she going to change the subject or shut him out entirely?

“I don’t want to talk about it now, Matt. I have to be on set soon.”

His head shoots up in surprise. She’s filming already? “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine.”

“The NCIS-thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you’re up for it?”

Again he can picture her rolling her eyes with uncanny certainty. Maybe because her voice has a tendency to carry her feelings with it, or maybe because he’s simply spend too much time studying her. It really doesn’t matter. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” A beat, then her voice again, softer now. “I’ll be fine, Matthew. It’s a welcome distraction and Salome has already made friends. Besides, it’s mostly just dialogue and the cast is lovely.”

Deciding he can allow her to avoid the subject of her nightmares for a little while longer, he pops a strand of cold spaghetti into his mouth and munches, happy to keep her talking for as long as possible. “What kind of role is it anyway, you never said.”

Her familiar laugh, rich and naughty makes him shiver. “Spoilers, darling!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miracle above miracles (is this even an English expression?) I have a week off, sort of anyways, yay!
> 
> So, to keep myself occupied I thought I'd do something I haven't done in a long, long time; see if I can fill some prompts. So if anyone has any, for either Alex or River, bring 'm on (in comments or via pressroom @ yahoo . com. I'm aiming to fill at least three. Please don't send (time)baby prompts or (for Alex) marriage prompts. Other than that, everything's fair game.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, it's that time again...

Two months pass. He goes out with his friends, who of course complain they’ve seen and heard far too little from him lately, rehearses with Jenna and slowly gets used to the new dynamic on set. The absence of Karen and Arthur sticks out like a sore thumb, but Jenna is quite lovely and lively and somehow, because she wasn’t there when Alex had been taken and because she doesn’t take such pleasure in torturing him with his infatuation (doesn’t even know, he thinks), Matt finds it easier not to think too much about his feelings for Alex. Well, he does, but he suddenly finds himself able to stay afloat among the _maybe_ ’s and _what if_ ’s.

He speaks to Alex often. Either he calls her or she calls him, some times just to ask about each other’s day and other times they have longer conversations about anything that strikes their fancy. She opens up a little about her nightmares, how she hears Daniel Chance laugh at her in her dreams and slowly reveals more of her life to him, talking about her friends, the charity projects she does and the slow battle to regain her trust in Florian. She does better on the whole and if he asks Karen to spy on their friend to confirm this, well, he’s only looking out for her, right?

Part of him might be a bit jealous of his former co-star. Karen had settled into life in LA quite quickly and flew from one audition to the next, landing a few impressive parts. Her and Arthur seemed to be making things work as well, even though they spend weeks apart. It gives Matt hope but also makes him think about his own future, especially when he overhears Jenna talking to her husband and realizes with a shock that he and Alex are having similar conversations.

Have they stumbled into a relationship without noticing?

He turns the question over and over in his head and it becomes increasingly difficult not to ask Alex. They’ve grown so much closer over the last months that he’s worried asking her outright – perhaps alerting her to the new balance might scare her again. By now talking to her nearly every day has become such an important part of his life he’s not sure he can do without. Claudia, ever helpful when he begs prettily enough, points out that he might want to wait until he and Alex are on the same continent before bringing up the question.

Which is why now, on a regular Friday evening, he’s running around his London apartment like mad. Alex is flying in tonight and tomorrow they’re having dinner. It’s not a date, or at least neither of them is ready to call it that, but it’s something. Something big enough for him to feel like a kid on Christmas Eve.

Nearly three months since he’s seen her and oh he _wants_.

It’s Steven’s fault too. Alex is coming over to film the last episode of series 7 and the devilish Scot refuses to say whether it’s a final appearance. She won’t be in the Christmas Special and he may resent his boss a little for that. He just wants to know if this is going to be the last time they’ll work together, is that really too much to ask?

Alex for her part has kept her spoilers to herself, secretive vixen she is.

No matter, he’ll get one of them to spill soon enough and at least there’ll be another onscreen kiss. He ignores the anxiety that comes with it. They’re in an entirely different place now than they were during the last.

Besides, nagging her about spoilers will probably welcome distraction for Alex. He knows she’s struggling with leaving her daughter with Florian. Her faith in her ex-husband had taken quite a hit and she’d managed to keep Salome with her during the guest roles she filmed for NCIS and Arrow.

Matt is more than happy to offer any distractions he can think off. Far too excited to sleep, he decides to be fruitful and tidies and cleans his apartment, just in case.

Eventually, place spotless, he forces himself to bed and after an hour of tossing and turning, he finally drifts off to sleep.

Little over an hour later the shrill sound of his doorbell startles him awake. It’s probably some mischievous kids trying to pull a prank, Matt decides. It’s after all well past one in the morning. No one could possible want something from him right now.

But the bell rings again and again and surely those kids would already have ran away or given up. Which means it has to be something important and at this time of night, it can’t possibly be anything good.

Anxious he quickly throws on a robe and rushes to the door. Peaking through the peephole reveals a vision that sends his heart into his throat for various reasons. In his hurry to open the door he fumbles with the lock, then yanks the door open with the security chain still, well, secured. Cursing, he slams the door shut again, this time taking the chain off before trying to fling the door open. He stares at his visitor, blinking.

Alex stares back at him.

“You’re here,” he mumbles, uncomprehending but eagerly drinking in the sight of her all the same.

“Yes.”

Only then does he notice she’s a bit breathless and her eyes are darting back and forth, a wheeled suitcase at her side, her curls dishevelled. She looks oddly lost and his heart clenches. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t mean—“ she starts at the same time, words rushed “—to wake you. I forgot my keys and I didn’t want – couldn’t – get into another cab, besides Allison threw Claude’s spare set out and I haven’t replaced them. I would’ve called, but my phone needs charging. Stupid really, should’ve done that at Heathrow but I just wanted to get home and you’re the only one close enough, so I walked here. I’m really sorry to impose, but could I…?”

It takes his sleep-addled and shocked brain a second or two to be able to make sense of her words and maybe he’s still a little bit distracted by _her_ standing on his doorstep in the middle of the night, close to tears. But eventually the message clicks and he nearly trips over himself to usher her inside. “Yeah, no, of course!”

She flashes a grateful but watery smile when he picks up her bag and herds her through his hallway into his living room, briefly thinking that it’s a good thing he’s channelled his nervous energy earlier that day into cleaning. Standing near his TV-set, she looks utterly drained.

Matt hurries to help her take off her coat and leads her over to the couch. “Here, sit, I’ll make you some tea, yeah?”

“You don’t have to, I just –“ but he quickly waves her objections away, hangs her coat on the rack in the hallway and sets about fetching tea for the lady all the while his mind is still stuck on _Alex is here, in my house!_ And of all the ways he imaged their reunion to go, this wasn’t one of them. Mind you, not that he’s complaining. She’s here, in his house and – oh God – she’ll be spending the night.

He nearly drops the teapot, suddenly more than a little nervous.

When he deposits the pot and mugs on the small salon table, Alex startles out of her thoughts. He studies her while he pours tea for the both of them. She appears calmer now, though still a little out of sorts.

“You okay?”

Sighing, she smiles self-deprecatingly and runs her fingers through her hair. “Yes. It’s silly really, just one of those days where everything seems to fall apart, you know? The flight was awful and delayed for three hours, my phone died, getting into a cab – well…” she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, staring into her mug forlornly. After a long moment she glances up at him and the look in her eyes robs him of his breath. Close to tears again, Alex quickly drops her gaze. “God, I’m sorry Matt. I just so tired and I didn’t know where else to go. I’m sorry I—“

“Stop apologizing, Kingston. I’m always happy to see you and I’m glad you came here.”

“Thank you.”

Silence settles between them. She does look exhausted and bedraggled after a long day of travelling. She’s lost weight too, although he can’t be sure with the layered outfit she’s wearing.

It’s still a little jarring to see her sitting on his sofa, fingers curled around her mug. Deciding to give her a few moments to herself, he jumps to his feet.

“I’ll, uhm, go change the bedding in the guestroom. Back in a mo’”

“Oh you don’t have to,” she blurts quickly, “I don’t want to—“

“Me mate Jason crashed there last. Trust me, he smells like a right badger. It’s no bother, really.” Not waiting for a reply, he sets about his task. Thank God his guestroom is relatively presentable. Quickly he shoves the assorted junk on the desk in a drawer and cracks a window. He tries not to think too much about Alex sleeping in here while he changes the sheets and fluffs the pillows.

Ten minutes or so later the room is presentable enough for his guest.

Returning to the sitting room he finds Alex already fast asleep on the couch. She’s curled in on herself, legs tucked beneath her and head rolled to the side. She’s stunning in rest, all soft lines and tangled curls, a vulnerability revealed in her expression that makes his heart ache.

Gently he calls to her until she stirs and opens her eyes sleepily. She yawns mightily as he helps her up from the couch and guides her to the guestroom. After he reminds her where the bathroom is they bid each other good night and he returns to his own bedroom. Sleep doesn’t come easily to him this time either, but eventually he doses off in the knowledge that Alex will still be in his home when he wakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your time, comments and prompts! I won't be able to fill them all, but I'm working on a couple. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and see y'all next week! x


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's that time again...

It’s still dark when he wakes and he spends an agonizing moment trying to hold on to the ghostly images of his dreams. It’s nearing in on half four according to his alarm clock. His mouth is dry and _holy shit, Alex Kingston is asleep in the guest room_.

He lays staring at the ceiling, turning the words _Alex_ and _here_ over and over in his head until the thirst becomes too much to bear. Braving the chill Matt slips on his robe and heads to the kitchen for a drink. He forbids himself to stop outside Alex’s room, but stops in his tracks when he reaches the living space.

Standing in front of one of the large windows overlooking the city is Alex, backlit by the lights of the city and an almost-full moon. Her curls are tied back at the nape of her neck, arms wrapped tightly around herself and she’s wearing only a thin nightgown. So thin in fact he can make out the shape of her beneath the champagne-coloured fabric. He really, really shouldn’t look.

To resist temptation he softly scrapes his throat. Alex jumps, but doesn’t turn to face him. Her eyes flick up to meet his in the reflection of the window before she looks back at the lights of London asleep. “It’s a gorgeous view.”

“Yes. Couldn’t sleep?”

She shakes her head once. “Strange bed.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It just triggers the nightmares.”

Taking a slow breath Matt dares to approach her until he stands just behind her. “What are they about?”

He honestly doesn’t think she is going to respond but then suddenly Alex meets his eyes in the window. “I can feel his hands around my neck every time I wake.” She’s silent a long time again after that, minutes that stretch on indefinitely, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth intermittently. “I wasn’t sure if… if anyone was looking for me. If he was going to kill me or… keep me, I guess.” She laughs hollowly, “couldn’t decide which of the two would be worse.”

His breath whooshes out of him at the whispered confession.

“He would have killed me eventually, anyway. Nearly did after I almost escaped, choked me.” One of her hands comes up to brush the line of her throat and he remembers vividly the finger-shaped bruises scattered across her neck. “Threw me down the stairs and… Anyway, I remember thinking I’d never get to see my baby again, never hold her or hear her laugh.”

Tears well in his eyes, a knot of emotion throbbing painfully just below his breastbone. “Alex.”

Her eyes are still on the view outside, expression unflinching and blank. “I’d never been in so much pain and he chained me up like a dog. Like I was nothing.” her voice cracks. His is lost among the emotions whirling in his chest. “I’ve never felt so alone. In the nightmares nobody finds me, Matt. He and Linda take my daughter and kill me, over and over.”

Matt hesitates for a second, hand hovering mid-air before he gently lays it on her left shoulder briefly distracted by the whisper of her curls across the back of his hand. She shudders under his touch, choking back a sob. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes to mind. Her skin is chilled and he suddenly realizes she must be cold in only her gown.

Without really thinking about it, he steps up right behind her, hesitating a second when she tenses. When Alex doesn’t pull away he takes the edges of his bathrobe and pulls them around her, drawing her flush against him and wrapping his arms around her waist. Her breath hitches. “Matt.”

“Just keeping you warm, Kingston.” After a beat, “I don’t know what to say.”

Alex relaxes further into his touch. The weight and warmth of her fills the hollowness in his chest. He pulls her a little tighter against him reflexively and his heart jumps when she lets him even as she utters words of caution. “This might not be a good idea.”

“Hush, you need a hug so I’m hugging you. Got any complaints?”

Her mouth twists into a wry half-smile. “Not quite.”

Matt grins at her fondly in the window. “I kindly ask you to shut up then, Ms. Kingston.” His fingers splay across her ribs, each one just a little too pronounced. She has lost weight then.

Something is still troubling her – of course there is. Multiple somethings in all likelihood. A whispered confession doesn’t simply fix everything. But there’s something else lurking in the depths of her eyes. It makes him more determined than ever to get to a point where she has no secrets from him and standing here in his home with Alex in his arms hope flares in his chest brighter than it has before.

After a long time Alex speaks again, her voice raspy and so soft he nearly misses what she says. “Sorry?”

She scrapes her throat and catches his eyes in the window. “What about your nightmares?”

Fighting not to look away from her he can’t help wrapping his fingers a little tighter around her. His heart thunders in his chest in response to the memories, some from nightmares, some from that horrible weekend nearly six months ago. Now she looks nothing like how she did in the hospital, but he still remembers. Not all the time but the way she looked then – so horribly pale and bruised – will flash before his eyes at unpredictable moments. “We find you. Sometimes you’re hurt and we take you to the hospital but you never wake up.”

He feels like a right jerk when she tenses in his arms. With mixed feelings he pushes on when she asks him about the other times.

“We’re too late. You’re… you’re gone.”

She can’t meet his eyes for the longest time after that.

As awful as their conversation has been though, Matt finds himself perfectly content to stand there surrounded by the warmth and scent of Alex.

“I dream he dies too. Well, he did I suppose.”

“You never told me how…”

“I don’t really remember. Bit like one of Karen’s infamous clubbing nights.” When he doesn’t laugh with her she drops the act immediately. “Between the concussions and the pain… I remember flashes. He held a knife against my throat, trying to get past the police. There was a shot, then blood. I’ve never seen someone die so violently.”

A chill creeps over him. Her words drive home once again how easily he could’ve lost her. And then there’s a physical chill as well when Alex steps away from him and he reluctantly lets her go. The silk of her gown whispers under his fingers as she takes a step closer to the window.

Arms wrapped tightly around herself, Alex takes a shuddering breath. “There was plenty of fake blood and gore in ER, but God Matt, the smell and the blood – still warm.” She turns then, eyes glittering with unshed tears. So sad, so strong. “I try to remember that he’s dead when the nightmares get too much.”

“Does it help?”

“No.”

Of course it wouldn’t, he thinks bitterly, she’s too Alex. How could anyone want to hurt her?

“It’s better. I’m better. But there are days, like today, when it just hits me all over again and I realize how screwed up everything is.”

He opens his mouth to say something but comes up short.

“I’ve never been so scared about leaving Salome with Flo. Her _father_. He would never hurt her, I _know_ that and yet…”

His eyes track her as she paces back and forth in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the skirt of her nightgown fluttering around her legs and her hands rubbing up and down her upper arms. It does sinful things to her chest and he really, really shouldn’t look at her like that right now. The thing is, he always looks at her like that. She enchants him, painfully graceful even in her distress.

But where he thought she took to pacing to dispel nervous energy, he realizes after a few minutes that she’s just trying to keep awake. Her eyelids are drooping and she stifles a yawn – scrunching up her features adorably in the process.

“Maybe we should head back to bed.”

“I can’t.”

“You must be tired.”

She looks at him helplessly. “I’ll only have another nightmare. Trust me, it’s more restful not to sleep.”

“There has to be something I can do.”

But Alex shakes her head.

“What if you sleep with me?” A blush threatens to light up his cheeks when she looks at him, eyes sparkling a little with amusement. “Just sleep, Kingston, geez. Maybe having someone close, not being alone will help? Like subconscious protection or something.”

“I don’t think –“

“Or we could talk, but at least you’ll be more comfortable.”

“Darling, I’ll be fine, honest. Go to bed.”

“I’m not leaving you like this.”

“Matt.”

“I’m not, Alex. So you can either come to bed with me to talk, run lines, stare at the ceiling for all I care, or we’ll stay here and watch the sun rise.”

She studies him for a long time, eyes scanning his face with an almost frightening level of scrutiny and yet he can’t escape the feeling that this moment isn’t really about him or his intentions.

Eventually something in her visibly gives and she exhales slowly. “All right, if you insist.”

Matt grins. “Oh, I do.”

Fifteen minutes later, Alex tucked in under the covers on the left side of his bed, he realizes he should have thought this through more. How the hell is he going to be able to sleep knowing that she’s right there next to him. What if he rolls over in his sleep and wraps himself around her? Or worse; what if he has an embarrassing dream?

What if after tonight he can never sleep without her near again?

He lies perfectly still, ignoring the itch on his nose and the desire to turn onto his side. He’d also really like to scoot down a little further under the covers and his shirt is bunched up uncomfortably under his back. Moving is not an option.

And it’s not that he’s not used to having a bedmate. With Alex it’s just different. A lot different. As if every single cell in his body is hyperaware of her presence. The sound of her breathing, the warmth of her, every damn twitch of her fingers or toes somehow registers in his brain. He barely dares to breathe.

Time creeps by in this weird limbo he’s found himself in and it’s too late now to start talking. He doesn’t really want to anyway, quite enjoys just lying next to her like this, even if it means he doesn’t dare to move or breathe. Besides, once she’s been asleep for a while he’ll be able to move without disturbing her.

Next to him Alex makes a noise of frustration. It’s soft, but he startles anyway. She’s so _close_. “I can hear you thinking.”

“Sorry, I…”

She tugs on the sheets, sitting up and exposing his side to the cold air in the process. “If this makes you uncomfortable, I can go—“

“No!” Quickly reaching for her wrist Matt gently tugs her back down. “’m not uncomfortable. It’s just… it’s been a while.” He catches her eyes in the dark and tries very hard not to squirm under her studying gaze. “Don’t go.” Another tug on her wrist and she relents.

But as hard as he tries to, relaxing isn’t easy when the woman of your dreams is so close and yet so out of reach. This is torture. What was he thinking?

After another few minutes of rigidly staring at the ceiling, Alex moves again. This time he knows he won’t be able to convince her to stay, so he doesn’t even try. _Well done, Smithers. Finally got her in your bed and then you chase her off_.

As a result he nearly jumps out of his skin when Alex – all curls and eyes gleaming in the dark – mutters unintelligibly under her breath and starts yanking at the sheets and at _him_. His brain must short circuit, because the next thing he knows she’s arranged his limbs and curled herself into his side. One of her lovely arms is draped across his chest, one of his is supporting her head, lost amongst the wild mess of her hair.

Matt opens his mouth to say something – lord knows what, but he has to say something, doesn’t he?

“Go to sleep, darling.”

Okay, maybe not.

When he finally dares to take a breath her scent immediately fills his head. She smells different he thinks. But then she would, wouldn’t she? She hasn’t washed her hair and isn’t wearing any perfume. The subtle hints of coconut and something flowery he cannot name are all that remain from her shower. No, this scent is all her.

Oddly, more than having her pressed into and draped over him, it’s the warmth and the earthy smell of her that make it impossible to ever forget this moment.

Emboldened, he shifts a little, tugs her closer and falls asleep with a grin etched onto his features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoe you enjoyed and thanks for reading!


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about this, I feel like I'm getting lost in the psychology of the story. Any tips on how to get things moving are welcome!

Alex wakes, as she does so often these days, with her heart in her throat. This time there are only shapes left of her nightmare, but she can feel the tension in her body, the rapid beat of her heart in her chest. The skin around her neck and throat feels too tight, unyielding. As she moves to rub at it, she realizes she’s half entangled with someone.

 _No_.

Even as she freezes – muscles almost painfully taut, braced against fear – last night’s events come rushing back to her.

Matt. It’s just Matt.

Willing herself to calm she takes slow breaths until her heart rate settles.

Where just hours ago she’d soaked up the presence of someone else – had tucked herself into him to draw on his warmth and the steady beat of his heart – he is now too close, too warm. Her skin is clammy and itchy and his arm, slung carelessly across her back, heavy and constricting. The smell of him fills her lungs with a weight that makes it hard to keep breathing.

Careful not to disturb him more than absolutely necessary, she untangles herself from him and slips out of the – his – bed. He mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over onto his stomach, his face pressing into the indentation she just left. His hair is sticking out at all angles, face utterly peaceful. With his eyes closed he looks every bit his age. Not the old soul that sometimes shadows his eyes or the young boy he still caries within him.

Despite the anxiety rumbling in her chest still, Alex lingers a few moments to just watch him sleep before the anxiety overtakes her and she sneaks back to the guestroom.

Dressed a little more comfortably and still keeping her mind occupied by pondering breakfast rather than being here, in Matt’s house and having slept in his bed, Alex sets about raiding the kitchen. At 9 a.m. it’s still too early to call Nicola and ask her to bring over the spare set of keys to Alex’s London apartment. Her sister is not a morning person and she’d rather not be yelled at just yet.

The remnants of her nightmare hang over her for a good half hour before she manages to shake the last vestiges of fear. It’s easier now than it has been for a long time and it helps that the physical reminders have all faded. Her back will act up occasionally when she’s tired, as will her left arm. But other than that, she’s fine. Even the two remaining scars are hardly noticeable.

Surveying the spoils of her search – eggs, stale bread, marmalade, a crop of lettuce, milk, cereal and spam of all things – she considers the incongruity of making breakfast for Matt Smith.

It’s not the first time, but certainly the first time after having slept in his bed. Next to him. She doesn’t quite know how to feel about that.

The way he looks at her sometimes terrifies her. He hasn’t said in so many words, mindful of her reservations, but they’ve skirted the issue close enough. His feelings for her go beyond friendship, beyond simple desire and in unguarded moments his eyes give away just how deep his feelings run.

But she has to wonder – what if Joe had never taken her? Would he feel the way he does? Would she?

Shifting through his pans, Alex fishes out one to bake the eggs in, hands busy with the task while her mind wanders. She does feel something for Matt, even if most of the time she doesn’t allow herself to think on it. How could she not? He’s been perfect, adapting with uncanny ease to needs she isn’t always aware of herself. Offering her anything from a listening ear to cheerful distractions, without ever pushing for anything more than she’s ready for. She loves him for that.

She owes it to him to consider the possibility of her feelings – however muddled they are – being nothing more than a product of the circumstances. That in itself is a terrifying thought. She’s always been in touch with her own feelings, known her own weaknesses inside and out. She might have ignored them at times, or given in too easily, but she’s always known.

She doesn’t now.

That’s the worst thing about these last months. The physical injuries have healed, the nightmares are getting better, she doesn’t feel constantly nervous anymore. Most days now she feels perfectly normal. She can laugh with friends, walk through the city with Salome without worrying – or at least she could in LA. She’s felt different again since landing in London, felt like she was being watched the entire walk from her place to Matt’s last night.

Ridiculous, really.

But she’s different and she still hasn’t quite gotten to know this new part of herself. She’s not sure she wants to.

She turns down the heat, leaving the eggs to finish cooking over the lowest setting and moves on to slice and butter the bread, distracting herself by searching for the butter. When the slices of bread are in the toaster she sets about washing and peeling the crop of lettuce.

It’s weird to feel so disconnected from part of herself and yet she remembers with uncanny clarity how complete she’d felt wrapped in Matt’s hug last night. He calms her, helps her stitch the pieces of herself back together without even being aware. It had been so to kiss him that night in her home, she can still recall the taste of him, feeling like she belonged.

He’s never made her feel like she should heal faster or try harder. Sometimes she wishes he would. She thinks she should heal faster, try harder. It’s been months and she’s still agonizing over the same worries. Isn’t it enough already?

But Matt... Matt is remarkable. She’s known Claudia for ages, since they were both teenagers and they know each other through and through. There is nothing she would ever hesitate to share with her friend, nothing she would ever fear being judged for. With Matt it feels like she’s rapidly getting to a similar understanding and she would never have thought that possible.

She doesn’t know him that well – or hadn’t, before – and in the grand scheme of things she really hasn’t spend much time with him. Not to mention how much younger he is. He grew up in a different world. She’s always loved his over the top sense of humour, the boundless energy radiating off him, his talent. She recognizes in him the same drive that pushes her to cross oceans time and time again to be with the people she loves and do the work she adores. Like her, he doesn’t do anything half-assed and he never forgets who his friends are.

Oh yes, it would be entirely too easy to fall for him.

But would it be real? Or just a desperate attempt from her psyche to cling to the safety he offers? How can she tell the difference?

Perhaps they’re the same thing.

Switching off the stove she tips the eggs onto a large plate, adds the toast and lettuce. There’s still no sound coming from Matt’s bedroom and she’s loath to wake him up. It’s bad enough that she kept him up half the night.

Alex stares at the plate of food. She really didn’t think this through. God, how _stupid_!

Wiping angrily at her eyes, _not crying_ , she takes a deep breath. And another. He’s been so amazing to her and she can’t even manage a simple and well-timed bloody breakfast. _God_.

Chiding herself under her breath, she tosses the food in the bin and quickly cleans and puts away the used pan and cutlery. Her eyes are still stinging, but crying will only make things worse. It’s just a stupid breakfast anyway, she’s not _that_ emotionally unstable. Honestly.

She’s just tired and too caught up in her own head. That’s all. She’ll just go sit on the couch, close her eyes for a bit until the urge to cry fades. It’s just exhaustion that’s all. Yes, closing her eyes for a bit will help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit pressed for time, so thank you all for continuing to kudo and comment. It's truly amazing. Every time I think no one else is going to like the story, more kudo's pop up. Thank you all!
> 
> Last chapter of the year coming up soon!


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A major thanks to everyone for their advice! You all made some good points, so I have reshuffled the next couple of chapters. Hope it'll make a little more sense and you'll enjoy it! Thanks so much :) It's still a bit slow, but the next chapter will be better, I promise

Alex wakes with an almost painful gasp to the smell of fresh bread and bacon. She blinks furiously against the remnants of another nightmare. Her shoulders are stiff, her back is sore and is that drool running down her chin? Quickly she wipes at it with the sleeve of her jumper.

Slowly and carefully she stands up, taking a minute to loosen her sore muscles, stretching her arms over her head until a sharp stab of pain warns her she’s overstretching her left one. Cursing under her breath, Alex turns towards the kitchen to find Matt staring at her with dark eyes.

She swallows. “Morning.”

The moment she speaks he blinks and his expression transforms into that boyish grin she knows so well. He bounces a little on the balls of his feet. “Morning Kingston, I got us breakfast!”

That explains the wonderful smells then. God, he really is perfect. Taking her in without any hesitation, running out on a Sunday morning to get breakfast because she messed up and he looks so ruddy proud of himself too.

“Bit weird, because I was sure I still had at least some eggs and brea-- oh, hey, now. Alex?”

She tries to meet his eyes, surprised by the sudden concern in his voice when she realizes her vision blurs and a sob wrangles itself up her throat.

“Shit, what’s wrong? Is it my chin? Too frightful a sight this early in the day, hmm? Kaz warned me.”

“You got breakfast,” she chokes out, unable to return his smile. “Sorry, I…” She can’t let him see her break down over something so inconsequential. It’s not like her failings are new to her after all.

But turning away from Matt means she doesn’t see him approaching and when he speaks next his voice is suddenly so close she physically jumps away from him. “You can tell me.”

“It’s nothing. I just…” She takes a deep breath, willing back the tears. “Ignore me. I just need a moment.”

After a long moment the weight of his gaze on her lifts and she hears him quietly stepping away from her. “Breakfast is in the kitchen when you’re ready,” Matt says softly, sweetly.

With some effort she manages to wrangle a thick ‘thanks’ past the tightness in her throat. More than anything she’d like to curl up in a dark corner and have a good cry. It’s just (or at least mostly) the exhaustion talking and possibly the lack of painkillers in her system. Her Doctor did warn her about this. It’s only breakfast, but it makes her feel like such a failure in light of Matt’s _perfection_.

He’s doing everything right, at the right time; never pushing or demanding and entirely willing to let her lead. Only she doesn’t know how, or where to. All she knows to do these days are the things she’s always done. Take care of Salome and act.

It’s been such a long time since anyone asked her for more.

Only, Matt hasn’t asked, has he? He’s hinted, but all he’s really offered is friendship. And she’s grateful for that, so, _so_ grateful, but what does it _mean_? She’s pretty sure he wants more – or wanted. What if he’s changed his mind, decided her too much work, too broken. For God’s sake, she slept in his bed last night and he didn’t even flirt with her.

_Pull it together already, Alex_. It’s not fair to fear him pushing things and at the same time spiral into doubt because he doesn’t.

Ugh, enough of this. Before she can reconsider, Alex turns around and joins Matt in the kitchen. He attempts to catch her eyes but she avoids him neatly. Nearly half the meal is gone before she finally dares to look at him. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You did have eggs and bread,” she blurts suddenly. The confusion on his face would make her laugh under different circumstances. Now it just makes her feel even guiltier. “I used them. I just wanted to make you breakfast – as a thank you, I suppose. But you were still asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. Scrambled eggs don’t really keep or reheat well, so I tossed them. I’m sorry Matt, I didn’t think.” Again tears prick in her eyes, but this time she refuses to acknowledge them. It’s just a stupid breakfast.

The warmth of Matt’s hand on hers startles her so badly she nearly knocks over her cup of tea. Dejectedly he pulls back. His barely-there eyebrows furrow with worry. “Are you okay? You’ve been a little…”

“Unhinged?” She says it airily, but the smile she tries for never quite makes it. “It’s nothing Matt, truly. Just a lot of small things going wrong, jetlag and a bit of withdrawal. I quit the painkillers two weeks ago, the Doctor said it might make me a little emotional as they leave my system. So really, I’m just being silly.”

“It’s not silly. Why are you being so hard on yourself?”

“It’s been seven months, I’m tired of being a victim.”

“But you’re not. Alex. You didn’t let this happen to you. You nearly escaped Daniel and you fought to get better after. You came back to work and tried to pick up the pieces. Even when Jack attacked you, when Linda’s meddling was revealed – you never just allowed them to hurt you. You protected Salome and did everything you could to make sure they couldn’t hurt you or Salome or anyone else again. You’re not a victim.”

He sounds so earnest – looks it too, his eyes burning into her and she knows he’s not wrong, but that doesn’t change the way she feels at this moment. She opens her mouth to tell him this, but then her throat closes up. When they met, Matt looked up to her. She can still recall the slightly awed expression with which he used to drink up the advice she offered. And although they’ve developed a close friendship since, he’s never acknowledged any of her flaws – Lord knows she has plenty.

Right now she needs him to get that she’s human, flawed and insecure like everyone else. To admit to that and then have sweet Matt try and make her flaws into strengths isn’t something she can handle in her current state of mind. And so all that she can get past her vocal chords is a quiet “thank you”.

For the remainder of breakfast they talk about the upcoming shoot and bemoan Steven’s secrecy around River’s farewell. The Scot still hasn’t decided which way he wants the scene to go and hasn’t given them the script yet.

When breakfast is cleared away, Alex excuses herself to call her sister. Nicola, bless her, is too caught up in making fun of her sister for leaving her keys on the other side of the world and having to crash with Matt Smith to catch on to Alex’s brittle mood.

Matt offers to drive down to Nicola’s and pick up the keys, sparing her sister from two hours in the car with three over-excited little boys. Any other day, Alex would’ve asked to borrow his car and driven herself. Considering how little she’d slept, letting Matt drive was simply the safer choice.

They take the opportunity to study their scripts and run lines. Although they have no dialogue together, Alex relishes the opportunity to work out the subtext of her scenes with Jenna and the complex relationship between the Doctor and his dead and/or invisible wife.

The guest spots she’s filmed in the last few months had been a lot of fun, but River held a special place in her heart. The character has such a tragic and complex background that each scene allows for depth and character growth and Alex loves every moment she gets to play her.

“You will be back, right?” Matt asks suddenly.

It takes her a moment to realize he’s stepped out of the scene. “Steven hasn’t told me yet.”

“Still?”

“Hmmm. What about you? You must be excited to start shooting the 50th when we’re done?” He takes his eyes of the road for a second to grin at her, but there’s something in his eyes that unsettles her. “Matt?”

“I am! The script is amazing, it’s going to turn everything upside down and I’m looking forward to work with David and John – and you didn’t get this from me, but they’re trying to bring Billie Piper back!”

Shaking her head at his excitement, Alex is tempted to let that look in his eyes slide. But no, whatever it is, he might need someone to talk to. It’s the least she could do really. “But?”

He speeds up a little to smoothly swerve onto the exit lane before a truck. “Things just haven’t been the same.”

“Of course they haven’t, darling. The dynamic you had with Karen can’t just be replaced. It changes when the people change. On ER, even with such a large cast, the same thing happened although not as drastic as what you’re going through. But you get along wonderfully with Jenna, don’t you?” She wishes she could take away the lost look on his face.

“Yeah. She’s a blast, really and I do love working with her. It’s just different. And Karen and Arthur are on the other side of the ocean, doing all kinds of amazing things.”

“You’re feeling left out.”

“No!” He denies quickly. “Or yes. Sort of?”

Without thinking she reaches out to pat his thigh. “That’s perfectly understandable, Matt.”

“I suppose. It’s just…” he trails off to dutifully follow the Sat Nav’s directions into Nicola’s home street. Just as they pull up on the driveway he looks at her again. “How do I know when it’s my time to move on?”

Matt meets her eyes for a brief moment but doesn’t give her a chance to answer, cutting off the engine and stepping out of the car with all the grace one would except of him.

He ducks to stick his head back into the car. “Come on Kingston, no dilly-dallying, let’s get those keys!”

Making a mental note to revive the subject at a later point, Alex quickly checks her hair in the back mirror and follows him out.


	49. Chapter 49

On the way back, Alex is even more grateful Matt is driving. Her nephews are adorable, but Lord, the energy they have is astounding. With her keys clutched tightly in her right hand, Alex sinks into the passenger seat. Her ears are still ringing with the boys’ high-pitched calls for Matt. _Doctor, Doctor, Doctor!_

They hung on his every word and action. It really was rather amazing how he’d quickly whipped the three terrors into a semi-organized team to fight aliens and how effortlessly he matched their energy. Which in turn led to a number of stamina-jokes from Nicola.

Alex had mostly ignored them, taking great care not to blush or react too strongly. If she’s honest, it’s a bit of a shock how well Matt fit in. He’d only met het sister and nephews once before, but after sending the boys out to scout for aliens in the backyard, he’d struck up an easy conversation with Nicola’s husband Michael.

She might be a little gleeful when she notices Matt wilt next to her. Not such boundless energy after all then. They spend most of the drive in silence, not even bothering to squabble over the choice of music and Matt pulls up at the flat she keeps in London with a simple, “here we are”.

Comfortably warm, Alex has to make herself get out of the car, stifling a yawn in the process. Before she’s true and well shut the passenger door behind her, Matt has already fished her suitcase and bag out of the trunk. He waits for her to catch up with him and then walks her to the front door.

“Tea?”

Surprisingly he shakes his head at her offer, a small, wistful smile playing around his lips. “That’s okay, Kingston.”

“You just drove all that way,” _for me_ , “tea is the least I can do.”

“Don’t mention it. You really don’t have to make it up to me in anyway, Alex. Got my lazy arse out of bed on a Sunday, hmmm?” Quickly she pushes down the guilt that rises up in her throat. “Besides, you must be pretty tired yeah? You should rest.”

“It’s _just_ tea.” Seriously, she’s not inept.

But Matt has already turned away from her to drag her suitcase into the narrow hall. The flat – or rather half of a house – hasn’t been lived in since August when the couple subletting it moved back to Australia.

The ground floor, which houses a sitting room, the kitchen and a sunroom, smells musty and could use a good dusting, but is in otherwise good shape. She shudders a little to think of the second floor where the bedrooms and bathroom are. The stuffiness will undoubtedly be worse there.

“It’s different than I remember,” Matt comments.

“Other people have been living here for nearly six months.” Guilt steals over her when it’s clear from his wounded expression that her words came out rather more snappish than she’d intended.

“Right.”

Softer, she explains that all her personal belongings – pictures of her daughter and family, vases and art – are locked away in the small junk room upstairs. Matt relaxes again, but his hazel eyes remain guarded. Overcompensating with a smile that very nearly physically hurts her, she offers him tea once more.

His fringe flops back and forth across his forehead. “Nah, I think I’ll head back.”

It’s hardly rejection, but still feels like it anyway.

He turns back when most of his body is already in the hall and nearly knocks his head against the doorpost. “Look, I know we said dinner, but if you’re too tired we can do it another time?”

The offer takes Alex by surprise. He had seemed to be looking forward to dinner during the drive to Nicola’s, but he won’t even look at her now. Maybe he’s just trying to look out for her, or maybe he’s just tired of her company. He’s been really kind to her – letting her spend the night and driving her all the way to her sister’s and back – he’s certainly sacrificed enough of his time off. God, who knows what plans of his she’d already ruined. But if he doesn’t want to go to dinner, she’d rather he would just tell her. “I’m not too tired, but if you’d prefer to have dinner another time, that’s fine with me.”

Peering at her from under his invisible eyebrows, Matt’s expression is frustratingly blank. “Are you sure?”

She nods and works not to sound jaded – not even sure why she feels like that anyway. “Yes. Of course.”

He grins brightly at her. “Right-o! Pick you up at half seven then?”

“What?”

“It’s just past four now, is that enough time? I suppose I can push back the reservation, I’m sure they’d accommodate.”

It finally clicks in her mind. She nearly laughs, her heart inexplicably lighter. “Half seven is fine.”

His eyes twinkle merrily at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

With an exited little wave of his hands, he winks at her and ducks out of her sight.

Dutifully Alex sets about unpacking her suitcase after opening most of the windows to allow in fresh air. It won’t be long before dinner and she’d like to try and talk to her daughter before then. She’d also like to know what the hell Matt is doing, but that proves to be a little more difficult.

He’d been quick to postpone their dinner plans, but then just as quick to reinstate them and she’d rather expected him to jump at her invitation for tea. She’s probably just reading too much into his behaviour. Perfectly aware of her own flaws, she knows that she often looks for mysteries where there are none.

Talking to Salome cheers her up (it always does) and though it’s rather early in the morning, her daughter is bouncing energetically, begging for spoilers and rambling about her plans for the week. But Alex knows her child well and the glimmer of sadness in Sal’s big eyes breaks her heart. Her little girl is just as unhappy being apart for the first time in months as Alex is, and she’s trying to hide it for her mother’s sake.

Alex purposefully doesn’t ask about Florian. He’s Sal’s father and she trusts him – or should, anyway. Ever since Linda things between her and her ex-husband have been awkward at best. They’ve always been civil to each other, but lately he’s been properly kind. It’s hard in a way she hadn’t expected.

Sometimes it still takes her by surprise – the reality of her divorce. She loved him and he never quite let her forget why. Florian is kind, quiet with a dry sense of humour and unwavering in the things he chooses to do. Unwavering too in his anger and eventual silence. Towards the end of their marriage they could go weeks without speaking to one another, both stubborn and unwilling or unable to make the first move.

It’s a wonder they lasted as long as they did. Simultaneously it’s a wonder they couldn’t make it work indefinitely. If she’d been able to have more children, she thinks they might have.

And there’s that memory again – the one that always pops up when she has these thoughts. The two of them in a hospital nursery, a screaming, angry little boy in her arms, face scrunched up and red. Their son. Finally.

Then the nurse, gently lifting him from her arms and the caseworker, asking quietly to speak with them. His mother changed her mind. Wanted to keep her son after all. So sorry.

 _So sorry_.

They hadn’t spoke on the way home and while Flo had gone upstairs to sit next to Salome, Alex had mechanically thanked Claudia and Allison for baby-sitting and sent them on their way.

If you asked her, that had been the beginning of the end for them. She’d been so angry and devastated – throwing things, shouting at the world and crying until her throat was raw and her eyes dry as sandpaper.

Florian had been silent, the only thing he’d said was that they had Sal and that was enough.

Few things were more terrifying than falling apart in front of someone and not feel like they understood. She’d failed again and that wasn’t all right, that wasn’t enough and his silence just made it worse. She couldn’t be like him – stand tall in the face of defeat. Alex needed to rage and break before she could mend and her husband’s quiet resolve to move on made that feel like a failure in itself.

So she’d tried once again to be someone she was not. She’d stopped talking too.

The cheerful ring tone of her cell snaps her out of her thoughts. She’s not surprised to find tears rolling down her cheeks and quickly wipes at them, voice shaky when she answers, “Alex”.

“Curly!” As always she smiles at Claudia’s enthusiastic greeting. “Back in the motherland?”

“Yep. I am.”

“Excellent! Just in time for proper English autumn too, aren’t you a lucky girl? Anyway, I figured you must have slept off your jetlag by now. Honestly, I’m a little miffed you didn’t call me.”

“Yes, well, I would have if your wife hadn’t thrown out my keys.”

“What do you mean?”

“I left my keys in LA.”

Claudia snorts then laughs. “Sorry.” Of course she sounds utterly unrepentant, but then Claudia has always had that enviable ability to let people make their own mistakes. Often times Alex is grateful for it. “You could still have called, you know. Where did you sleep, you got in pretty late, didn’t you?”

Blushing slightly, she wills her voice to steady. “Matt’s.”

“Really?” Her voice rises to a gleeful pitch. “Rather telling, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes,” Alex agrees dryly. “It is rather telling that I can’t call my best friend when I’m out on the streets.” But her voice falls just short of teasing, tripping over the lingering tears.

Just like that, all cheer evaporates and Claudia sounds hollow. “Alex, that’s not –“

“I know.” _Damn it, Alex._ “Claude, I _know_. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

The other woman takes a deep breath. “It’s… Do you have another set of keys?”

Knowing that she’s already forgiven doesn’t ease the knot of guilt in her chest. It’s the only thing they never talk about and Claudia deserves better than a passive-aggressive crack but a phone is not the correct medium and Alex is far from the right state of mind for that particular a conversation. Besides, they’ve been putting it off for more than a decade; it’ll keep. “Nic’s,” she answers thickly. “I’ll see about getting you a new set.”

“I’ll make sure Allison doesn’t toss them out again. So, Matt, _spill_.”

Sinking back into the comfortable sofa, Alex allows herself to relax. “Nothing happened.”

“Come on. That man is crazy about you and you spent the night at his place. You don’t actually expect me to believe that.”

“He’s not crazy about me. And nothing happened.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

Alex rolls her eyes, oddly disappointed. “Yes. Really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of the new year, yay!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and advice. I'll get around to personal responses next week, for now - unfortunately - I have to dash. Hope you'll like this chapter! I meant to cut it, but then I just couldn't, sorry


	50. Chapter 50

After talking to Claudia for nearly an hour and her daughter before that, Alex suddenly finds herself rushing to get ready. Matt shows up a few minutes late, dressed in trademark band shirt and tight jeans, a stylish black jacket upgrades the whole look. Alex nearly excuses herself to change into a black Diane von Furstenberg dress, feeling a little plain in her brown skirt and teal top. But then, sod it, it’s just dinner. At the last moment she remembers to bring the envelope tucked in the bottom of her suitcase.

He takes her to a tiny Portuguese restaurant with a brightly smiling hostess who shows them a small table in the back, away from the bustle of the entrance and kitchen. She forces herself to tease him for flirting up a storm with the hostess, taken aback when the tips of his ears flush.

In the few hours since she last saw him, Matt has spoken to his sister and is now enthusiastically filling her in on Laura’s new touring schedule. There’s wistfulness in his eyes when he talks about the cities she’ll travel to.

Alex watches him carefully. The question he’d mumbled almost guiltily to her in the car still lingers in her mind. The least she can do after all he’s done for her is offer a listening ear. “You could go and visit her during the filming breaks.”

His eyes narrow ever so slightly before he looks down at his hands and drums his fingers against the solid, smooth wood of the table between them. “Yeah.”

“No?”

He shrugs. “No. Yeah. You’re right. Always are, aren’t you?”

It’s Alex’s turn to look away. “Hardly. You don’t want to visit her?”

“I do, of course I do. But that’s not why I…”

She waits patiently for him to continue until after the waiter has come to clear their entrée plates away and they’ve chosen their main dishes. She’s not really hungry at this point, which speeds up the process some. She is rather tired and has to stifle a yawn – unwilling to admit he’d been right earlier. Matt throws her a fond look as she hems and haws between the fish and the vegetarian dish. “What is it then, darling?”

It takes him a moment to recall what they’d been talking about, she can tell by the confusion that flickers across his features. “I don’t know,” he admits. She can barely hear him over the ambiance of the restaurant, his voice very nearly lost in the loud laugh of a man a few tables behind him. The lost look in his eyes tells her more than enough however. “It’s rather amazing what she’s doing, you know? I thought she was mad when she decided to start her own troupe, but they’re really successful and she loves every minute of it. The new places, new people.”

Very nearly Alex smiles at him, proud in a way that takes her by surprise. She’d always known he would move on from the Doctor eventually, absolutely convinced there are bigger and better things waiting for him when he is ready. No matter how hard it would be to leave a character like the Doctor, eventually he would do just that. But rather than tell him that, she hums a quiet affirmation

Matt absent-mindedly rolls the stem of his glass between his thumb and index finger. The wine comes dangerously close to spilling over and she almost looks forward to watching him trip all over himself apologizing. It doesn’t happen though, instead he stills and sighs. “It’s still a little weird you know, being on Who without Karen. I guess part of me thought she’d come back somehow, but she’s doing really well in Tinseltown. Arthur is loving being back on the stage and they’re really making a go of it.”

She can’t quite hide her surprise. “They didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“They decided to go back to being friends.”

“What? Why?”

She shrugs, hesitating and then decides Karen was never one to keep secrets. “I think they’re both caught up in their new lives. Relationships aren’t easy, especially not in their circumstances.”

“So they just quit?” He looks almost personally affronted by this for reasons that elude her

“I don’t think they just did anything, Matt and they both seem quite happy this way.”

He blinks at her, finally settling on a _Wow_ just as their main course is brought out of the kitchen.

While Matt eagerly tucks into his goat stew after he’s shaken off the shock, Alex finds herself mostly just pushing her food around on the plate. The stockfish soufflé smells absolutely mouth-watering and tastes just as good, but after a couple of bites she’s simply full.

Matt mumbles something around a mouthful of rice she doesn’t quite catch. She has to bite her tongue to keep from chiding him – the action such a well-practiced one.

“What was that, darling?”

Holding up his hand in a bid for time, he quickly chews twice and swallows. Alex winches for his poor intestines and busies herself sipping wine until he manages to speak. “I really thought they’d make it work.”

There’s really nothing she can say to that – or at least nothing that matters. She takes another bite of her fish and moves to refill their glasses when she catches an odd look on Matt’s face. Bottle poised above her glass she meets his eyes. “What?”

For a moment it looks like he might answer, but then he looks down at his plate. “Nothing.”

Odd.

They eat in silence for a while. That is to say; Matt eats. She just toys with her food and sips her wine. When he’s all but finished, Alex moves to refill their glasses again. He stops her with a quick wave of his hand. “’m switching to water. Have to drive.”

Pushing down guilt at having him chauffeur her – again, she tops up her own glass. The jetlag and lack of sleep are getting to her. Her head feels heavy and her back aches, but at least the alcohol numbs the edges.

Matt’s eyes linger on her glass for a moment before he lifts them to look at her. “Are you sure you’re okay to be drinking that much?”

She hides her irritation below a sharp laugh. “It’s only my third glass, darling. Besides, we’ve got the bottle – it’d be a shame to waste it.” He’s only looking out for her. It’s sweet, really.

“You’ve barely eaten.”

“Stuffed my face with Nic’s cookies.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but lets the matter drop and pours both of them a glass of water. Alex ignores hers pointedly. “When are you heading down to Cardiff?”

“Tuesday. Three weeks in Cardiff, two here in London then back home.” Try as she might, she can’t keep the sadness from creeping into her voice. Five whole weeks without her daughter. She meant to take Sal back with her to London and Surrey for the holidays. As much as Alex would love to stick to her original plan and leave her ex-husband to his own devices, he is Salome’s father an after everything that’s happened she should make an effort to mend things as much as possible. If that means spending Christmas with just the three of them in LA, well, she can be a good mom and take one for the team. She could still fly out with Salome for New Year’s. The sympathy in Matt’s eyes is nearly too much to take. “You?”

“Same. Though I don’t think they’ll let me go after just three weeks.”

Grinning, Alex agrees. “You love it though.”

“Not as much as I used to.”

The raw honesty in his voice startles her even though she’s seen it coming. “Matt?”

“Nothing.”

“Matt.”

“How do I know when it’s my turn?”

“You don’t,” she tells him honestly. “Not until after the fact.” Suddenly he looks at her like she has all the answers and it’s startling after witnessing his concern for her for so long. Only she doesn’t have all the answers – or any of them really. Again she can’t give him what he wants from her and it makes her nauseous. She’s always disappointing him.

“How did you know, with ER? Why did you decide to leave?”

“That was different.”

“Yes. You were there, what, twice as long?”

“We had an ensemble cast, I had a young daughter at home and Elizabeth sort of ran her course as a character. No one quite knew what to do with her anymore. That will never happen with the Doctor.” _I don’t have the answers_.

Matt smoothes his fringe back fruitlessly and sighs. “But you still made the call.”

“I figured if Elizabeth couldn’t inspire me anymore, how was she going to inspire anyone watching?” Of course she doesn’t tell him that at that point cracks were already showing in her marriage. At the time it made her decision not so much easier as necessary.

The hostess interrupts them, enquiring whether or not they liked their food. They both enthuse over their respective dishes and Alex explains she’s just not that hungry. With a bit of an insulted huff, the woman clears their table and brings over the desert-menu.

For a long moment after the hostess has left, Matt stares at some point over her shoulder. Then he brings his eyes back to hers. He looks every bit the old Doctor in that moment; weary and worn, the weight of a world on his shoulders. “I love being the Doctor. As far as characters go, you really can’t ask for more, can you?”

Unwilling to influence him in anyway, Alex stays silent.

“I just don’t want my entire career to be about him and if I stay for too long, it will be. I don’t want to be type-cast for the rest of my career.”

“Claudia will tell you it’s better to be type-cast than not cast at all.”

His twist his lips into a crooked grin at that. “Claudia has a peculiar kind of wisdom, doesn’t she?”

Alex laughs. “You have no idea. And unfortunately, she’s often right.”

They sober simultaneously, eyes locked across the small table. “What do you think I should do, Kingston?”

“I honestly don’t know, Matt. But I can tell you this: you have to make this choice about you. Not about Steven or Jenna or possible future projects or the Doctor. They’ll be fine, just like they were after David and after Karen. It’s a sad truth, but no one is irreplaceable and if you make this choice for anyone other than yourself, you’ll regret it.”

She glances away from him as soon as she finishes talking, caught off guard by her own sincerity and by unbidden memories rising to the surface of her thoughts. Matt doesn’t reply for a long time. Processing, she thinks.

Then his hand is on her wrist and when she looks at him, those hazel eyes shine with emotions she can’t name. Face half cast in shadow he looks calm, lighter and she wonders if he just made his choice. Doesn’t ask – doesn’t want to know. _Coward_.

“You’re irreplaceable,” he says softly. “To me. You’re irreplaceable.” And in that moment she believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn't think you'd ever get to see this dinner, hehe
> 
> Hope you liked!


	51. Chapter 51

She invites him into her home after dinner. Someone has to take that step she figures and he said she’s irreplaceable _to him_. That means something, doesn’t it?

But standing on the threshold of her house, Matt shakes his head and wrings his hands together. “I… I don’t think… Another time? You’re tired, I can tell, you should get some sleep.”

Alex stares at him for a long moment, trying to make sense of another one-eighty degree turn. A nauseating mix of embarrassment and anger boils in her blood. Has she misread him that badly?

Speechless still she turns and slams the door in his face.

She mutters madly to herself. Cursing at him, at herself, at bloody Claudia for pushing her to give Matt a chance. A chance to do what? Nothing he does makes sense. Sure he had hinted and alluded and all but said, but that had been months ago. He’d kissed her, she’d kissed _him_ for fuck’s sake and they’d talked for hours after, but not about the kissing or the way he looks at her sometimes, or why he’s been plastered to her side since she woke up in the hospital.

None of her other friends have done that. They’ve helped, each in different ways, and she loved them all for it, but no one else has been as persistent, as _close_ as Matt. She’s so sure it meant – means? – something. Had to have, right?

The front door creaks open and she goes rigid. It’s Matt, it has to be. But she didn’t lock the door, anyone could have… She takes a deep breath, willing herself to calm. It’s Matt, of course it is.

“Alex?”

See?

“Are you all right?”

“ _Fine_. Go home, Matt.” She keeps her back turned to him, ears pricked to follow his movements behind her.

“You’re angry.”

_No shit, Sherlock_

“Look, Alex, I… I just don’t think… I mean… I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He stammers and trips over his own tongue and she can picture exactly the way he fidgets from left to right, hands flying about in front of him as if he has no control over their movements at all.

It’s _not_ sweet. “Noted. You can go now.”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s not that I don’t… it’s just – soon, yeah?”

She whirls around to look at him, expression no doubt incredulous. “Geez Matt, I invited you in to talk, give you your bloody birthday present. Not to fuck.” His face contorts in all kinds of unnatural expressions as he processes her words, but she doesn’t have the patience anymore. “Is that why you didn’t want to come in for tea? Afraid I would jump you?”

“No, no, that’s not…” He tugs at his hair, trailing off. “I just thought you should rest.”

“I think I can make those kind of decisions for myself, I’m not a child.”

He pouts a little at her, then allows his eyes to rake up and down her body suggestively “Definitely a woman,” he grins at her.

Lips pursed Alex doesn’t know how to respond. He’s only falling back on their default way of communicating – flirting – but it rubs her entirely the wrong way. It’s not his fault, so she forces herself to ignore it. “And just now?”

At least he has the decency to blush a little. “You’re still tired, and you had a couple glasses of wine. Didn’t want you to do or say something you’ll regret.”

“You do realize I’ve been drinking longer than you’ve been alive, yes? God Matt, I’m not a ruddy teenager! For God’s sake stop acting as if I can’t make my own choices!”

Wide eyes regard her as if she just pulled off a mask and revealed herself to be a two-headed monster. Matt fidgets on the balls of his feet, blinks then squares his shoulders. “I’m just looking out for you.”

Alex glares at him. “Why? Do you really think I incapable of taking care of myself?”

“I think we’ve had this conversation before,” he tells her quietly – disappointed? “I just want to help.”

An undignified snort rumbles in the back of her throat. Her chest constricts painfully at the look of hurt that crosses his face, but she stubbornly pushes on. They’ve been dancing around each other for too long, both hiding behind her kidnapping and slow recovery and she’s had enough of being treated with kid gloves. “Why?”

Matt shrugs helplessly.

“Tell me!”

“You’re not ready.”

It’s that all her attention is focussed on him, or she wouldn’t have been able to make out his mumbled words. Alex bristles in reply. “And who are you to decide that?” She has nearly twenty years on him. He doesn’t get to decide if she’s ready.

“Alex.”

“No. Don’t Alex me! Ready for what, Matt?”

He glances away from her, eyes dark. “Doesn’t matter.”

“God, grow up!” The words leave her mouth before she can help herself and while she sort of regrets them almost instantly, something else clicks. She wants to make him mad. He’s been so sweet, so kind to her. As if causing her any stress or surprise will break her, as if she’s the only one flawed. Maybe she just wants to prove she can take his anger, that could be it. She honestly doesn’t know.

“What do you want from me, Matt? You’ve been a friend – a good, sweet man, is that all it’s been? Because you kissed me and you said _things_ and I thought they meant something, if even I wasn’t sure what. We talk constantly, you let me sleep in your bed, came with me to my sister’s. But you also refused to come in for tea or after dinner, it’s like you can’t decide between being my friend or something else and I’d like to know.”

She stands there breathing harshly and glaring so hard at him it’s giving her a bloody headache. Her back aches from the long day but she refuses to shift to ease the pull. Matt looks mostly bewildered at first and now simply terrified. He opens his mouth but doesn’t say a word.

She snaps. “Grow a pair and tell me what the hell you want!”

His hands come up, “Alex…”

But she’s beyond platitudes, beyond wasting another moment caught in this purgatory of not knowing what he wants, and consequently shifting between assumptions, unable to figure out what _she_ wants. “What are you so goddamn afraid off?”

Finally she can see him break and it fills her with a cruel satisfaction when he finally shouts back. “That you’ll say no!”

Not to be outdone, Alex matches his volume easily, voice unnaturally pitched. “To what?! Matt, what the hell do you want? Friendship, a shag, something else all together? Tell me, because I don’t know!”

Jaw set, he shakes his head at her. “How can you not? God Alex, if I just wanted a fuck I could’ve saved myself a lot of time and effort!”

For a second the out of character arrogance camouflages his words, but when they hit she stumbles back as if he’s physically punched her. Does he think she would just fall at his feet if he’d wanted to bed her. Is that how he looked at the past couple of months? As a chore, a ridiculous amount of effort to get what he wants – whatever that is.

 “I didn’t mean—“

It registers somewhere that he looks as shocked at his own words as she feels. She cuts off his backtracking sharply, shaking with the emotions burning in her chest. She can’t allow the hurtful implication of his words to distract her. “Don’t. Stop protecting me, Matt. Just tell me what you want.” It’s scary how badly she needs an answer.

At this point she honestly doesn’t know what she’s hoping for. There’s always been an attraction; she’s not blind or deaf after all. Until a few months ago she’d never seriously considered him as a possible partner and now… well, the way this is going, now might not matter much. Matt looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else than here, with her. With her anger and irritation expressed and fading, she is drained and still as lost as she’s been mere minutes ago on her doorstep.

“Matt?”

A shudder passes through his lanky frame, shoulders and hands jerking a little as he starts towards her and in almost the same moment freezes. There’s such dept in his hazel green eyes she nearly loses her way in them. “It’s not… I don’t…” A low growl underscores his frustration and he forcefully runs his fingers through his hair, tugging none too gently at the shiny brown locks. “Alex, please…”

Her throat closes up. Perhaps he’s not trying to protect her. What if he is as scared as she is? Where does that leave them? “I think,” she scrapes her throat awkwardly. Reluctantly: “you should leave.”

For a moment she thinks he might refuse, but then he hangs his head. “Yeah.”

She closes her eyes to fight the tears suddenly burning in her eyes. _Don’t go_.

The floor creaks under his feet. “I’m sorry.”

The whispered words nearly break her, but she stubbornly holds it together until she hears the door shut behind him.

Then the tears come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! I can't believe that next week this story will be going for an entire freakin' year. That's just mind-blowing. I never meant for it to get so out of hand, but alas, here we are. It's really properly scary, isn't it?
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's read and kudo-ed this and especially those of you who have taken the time to write a comment. I really couldn't have done this without your encouragement, tips and support. I know the quality of the chapters hasn't been all that consistent, but at least I've mostly managed to meet the weekly deadlines, that counts for something right?
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this chapter too despite - well - the chapter and yeah, see you next week!
> 
> A year! idek


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you are going to be disappointed. Sorry!

“You’re an idiot. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – because it’s true – you are an idiot. Why didn’t you tell her, you pansy-arsed idiot?”

Matt cringes at Karen’s unnatural pitch and starts to mutter something about timing and not ready, but the Scot is having none of it. He had to go and call her. What was he thinking, opening himself up for the Ginger’s abuse like that? And they’d been doing perfectly well talking about other things, like LA and auditions and Karen-and-Arthur who now were Karen and Arthur again. But he’s been out of sorts since leaving Alex’s place. Jarred by her words, the nearly hysterical pitch of her voice. He doesn’t know what to do or how to feel anymore and talking to Karen had seemed like a good idea. At first.

“Look, unless you’re a crazy psychopath and we all – and by all I mean everyone but me, because I, obviously, have always known – simply missed it, asking her out on a date is hardly a traumatizing event. Even if the person doing the asking has your ugly mug,”

In the beat of silence, they both roll their eyes. He remembers sitting in Steven’s sitting room on that horrifying night when no one knew where Alex was, if she was even alive, and receiving much the same speech. “God, are all you Scots psychically linked or something?”

“What?”

Sinking further into his couch as if it’ll protect him from Kazza’s impressive vocal range, he waves her question away before realizing she can’t see him. “Never mind.”

True to form, the Scot happily resumes her line of thought. “Right-o. Aaanyway, as I was saying, telling her isn’t going to kill her.”

“I just don’t think she’s ready.”

“Ready for what? To hear words being spoken? Oh the humanity!”

“Karen.” But his warning comes out a little flat. Truth is, he’s always hated how Karen can make anything sound _easy_. If telling Alex his feelings were simple, he’d have done so ages ago.

An ocean away, his friend matches his tone perfectly. “Matthew.”

He sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“It actually is. And then guys call women complicated!” Ugh. He can just _hear_ her roll her eyes. “Just tell her.”

“I told you –“

“She’s not ready, yeah, which is bullshit of course. Unless – oh.”

Matt sits up a little straighter. It sounded like she had an epiphany of sorts and with Karen, that’s always a dangerous thing. Not sure he wants to know, he asks anyway. “Unless what?”

There’s a pause, for dramatic effect probably. It’s unlikely she’s suddenly thinking her words through. “Unless by not ready you mean she might say no.”

“What? Of course not – I mean, well, not that she won’t say no, just that that’s not what I mean.” Yes and he’s certainly casually done away with that notion. No bumbling or stammering at all. _Shit_.

Sure enough, Karen’s smugness all but drips through the airwaves. “I think it is.”

“Well you’re wrong.”

Karen makes a noise of frustration and after a beat seems to come to a decision. Her tone brokers no argument. “Look Matt, don’t tell anyone and don’t ever, ever bring this up again – but I like you. You’re a decent bloke. Bit misguided on occasion and I could do without that chin, but there you have it. She might surprise you – and yes, she might say no. But is postponing the question really going to change that? Is there anything you’re doing now that will change her mind?”

“Uhhh…” He thought he was, really. By being patient, by being there for Alex and not pushing her, but last night had proved him wrong, hadn’t it? His chest aches as he recalls the confusion and frustration in her eyes. But he is also hurt – angry even. Why can’t she trust him? Tell him what she needs, how she feels. How could he be expected to take that step and lay his heart at her feet when one moment it looks as if she might return his feelings at least at some point and the next it feels as if he never had a chance in the first place.

Of course Karen has no such qualms. “Yeah. So, you know, grow a pair and be honest with her.”

But how can he explain that sickening mess of emotions balled in his chest to happy-go-lucky Kaz?

“Look, sometimes it’s easier to react than act, yeah?” Karen pushes on at his obvious hesitation. “And Alex – she’s had a crappy year and if I were in her shoes I’d be perfectly happy to curl up somewhere and let life pass me by for a bit. So if you want something from her, you’re going to have to ask for it my friend. She’s not just going to hand you your heart’s desire on a silver plate.”

Damn her. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“Well, that explains a lot then.”

He ignores her gleeful tone, suddenly awash with insecurities. “Seriously, do you think I have any chance at all?”

To the Ginger’s credit, she takes a moment to think about it and drops all teasing when she answers. “I think that if she didn’t care at all, she wouldn’t have pushed it. Which brings us full circle. Why didn’t you just tell her?”

Could it really have been that simple? Matt sighs. “I didn’t want it to be like that – during an argument.”

“Blimey, you’re a big sap.”

“Thanks Kaz. Really.”

“Matt, honestly? You have to tell her.”

“Even if she… it’s probably not going to work you know. If you and Arthur can’t make it work, what chance do her and I have?” Intellectually he knows they’re different people, different lives. Whether or not Karen and Arthur can make a relationship work has no bearing on him and Alex. But still he can’t help but think that the odds were favourable to his friends, certainly more favourable than they are for him and the woman he wants.

On the other side of the ocean, Karen sighs. He has rarely heard her so seriously. “We talked about that. Arthur and I, we’re at a different place. I’m not ready to settle down. I thought I was, but LA has opened up all these new possibilities. Looking back I think we were both scared. Things were going to change and when Alex…” she swallows audibly and he knows the feeling well, he doubts they’ll ever get to a point where they’ll be able to talk about what happened to Alex without dredging up the horrifying fear of those days. “…Disappeared we fell back on what we knew and Arthur and I… it just seemed like the thing to do? But Matt, that’s no basis for a relationship.”

“But that’s exactly my point! Alex is still not…” he closes his eyes and sighs, “not herself. She’s more timid, unsure. I don’t want to push her into something she’s not ready for.”

“And as she tried to tell you last night, that’s her choice to make.”

He rubs at the back of his neck, wishing not for the first time thing were easier. “Why can’t she just tell me if she…”

Karen manages to sound both sympathetic and exasperated as she interrupts him. “Because you haven’t asked her, stupid.”

By the time they’ve said their goodbyes Matt has the beginnings of a plan forming in his head and though he would much rather go back to Alex right now, he knows they both need time to regroup.

And that’s why he finds himself pacing outside Alex’s London home at nine the next morning. It’s quite possibly too early. He knows Alex is an early riser, but after the weekend she’s had – which apart from their _thing_ last night included a transatlantic flight – she might be sleeping in. He just needed to do something.

Talking to Karen last night had helped him put some things in perspective and after a healthy dose of introspection, he did get where Alex had been coming from. He hadn’t been willing to push her, but he’s not too proud to admit that he’s also scared shitless. They’ve gotten so much closer over the past months and there have been moments when he thought he had a chance – a real, proper chance and he’s terrified to blow it.

He understands now that she needs something concrete from him and he gets why too, because he needs it as well. On her doorstep, with his finger a hair’s breadth away from the bell, he sucks in a deep breath for courage and rings.

Time to break the stalemate.

To his surprise, Claudia opens the door. She looks utterly unruffled to see him, leaning casually against the frame as she eyes him up and down.

“Uhmmm. Hi?”

“Hello.”

Drawing on every acting lesson he’s ever had he meets her striking blue eyes without fidgeting. “Is – is Alex in?” Of course the stammering kind of ruins the effect.

“Yes.” Claudia does an impressive job of keeping a blank face – of course, she’s a RADA-graduate. Standing in the hall she towers over him, staring at him as if she’s waiting for him to crack and run away. Not for the first time he feels like the history between her and Alex is more complex than either of them has let on.

He shakes his head in an attempt to dislodge the thought. The future is why he’s here. “Can I talk to her?”

“Why?”

Fair enough. “We had a… thing last night. I assume she told you? I just want to make things right.”

Claudia considers his words. Her stance and expression still unyielding – protective even. Alex is lucky to have a friend like her. “Look, I like you. I think I’ve said that.” Her eyes soften ever so slightly. “I like you for her as well. But Alex second-guesses herself often enough as it is and this thing you’re doing isn’t helping.”

And that’s just it, isn’t it? He’s been trying so hard to help he’s gotten lost in what he thought was best for Alex, hurting her in the process. “I get that now.”

Alex’s voice from inside the house interrupts whatever she’d been about to say. “Claude? Who is that?”

“I’m not sure yet!” Claudia shouts back over her shoulder. Then to Matt, “why are you here?”

He considers his answer carefully. “To move forward, if she lets me.”

Apparently those are the magic words because Claudia’s tall frame relaxes and she sort of slinks past him, patting his cheek as she goes and smirking. “Good lad. I’m going to get breakfast now.”

Turning towards the now unguarded hallway, Matt swallows and tries to calm his nerves. Moving forward.

Right then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it - Chapter 52. I know I said it last week, but this is utterly insane. A whole year! To the day even. When I started this fic I thought it was going to be 30, maybe 40.000 words. Now it's over 91.000. It's massive and you all have been absolutely wonderful in reading, commenting and reviewing. I honestly couldn't have kept up the weekly chapters without your support.
> 
> I realise it's a bit odd to have the anniversary chapter devoid of Alex/Matt but unfortunately it just happened that way and I couldn't figure out a way to change it without cutting Karen. And well, cutting Karen is probably illegal somewhere. Besides, apparently there's always next week ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it anyway! And please; kudos are anniversary cards but comments (good and bad) are presents and who doesn't love presents?
> 
> See you next week!


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick as a dog and have been unable to properly proofread and edit this chapter. So sorry! I just didn't want to miss this week's deadline, or your reactions ;)

As Matt slips into Alex’s house and makes his way through the narrow hallway, he purposefully stomps his feet a little to make sure she hears him coming. He doesn’t want to startle her.

He finds Alex in the kitchen, dressed in what look to be comfortable yoga pants and a bright green bathrobe. She’s arranging a vase of flowers with her back to him. “Who was it?” She asks without turning, obviously expecting Claudia behind her.

“Uhm. Me?” Though she doesn’t turn immediately, he can tell she’s surprised by the way her shoulders tense. “Hi.”

When she does turn around, her face betrays nothing. “Oh. Hi.”

It’s quite clear that last night hasn’t done her any favours. There are dark rings under her eyes and her skin is pale and dull, her eyes flat and grey. If anything he is irritated. How can she claim to be fine? She’s been in the country for two nights and she’s barely slept.

It also drives Karen’s point home. Even now Alex looks like she is ready to bolt at any moment and her eyes dart from him to each of the kitchen’s exits. It’s painful to watch her so uncomfortable in his presence. She used to trust him, didn’t she?

God, everything that’s happened has really messed her up. A year ago she would never have stood for this – would have grabbed the proverbial bull by its horns and he is startled to find himself angry not just with the Chances and himself, but with Alex as well. Of course that in turn causes guilt to rise up high in his chest.

Just like that, without having spoken a word, he’s gone from hopefully determined to guiltily resigned. And now he hasn’t spoken in too long and the silence between them has become awkward.

It’s Alex who attempts to break the tension, her smile so fake it hurts him to look at it. “Tea?”

He shakes his head. “No thanks. I just wanted to talk to you for a bit?”

“Yeah. Sure. Are you sure you don’t want tea? I’d offer you something else, but well, out of supplies. I think Claude is getting some food if you want something.”

He starts towards her when she finishes her rambling and turns back to her flowers. Matt freezes. Suddenly hearing his mother’s voice chiding him for being rude. Should he have brought her something? Flowers? Pastries? “I’m good.”

“’Kay. If you change your mind, just… y’know.”

It hurts to see her so ill at ease in his presence. She must have read his patience for what it truly was: insecurity. And now she’s mirroring it back to him. He wishes that there was something he could say that would calm her. Very nearly he makes an excuse to leave, willing to do anything to make her feel better even if it means leaving her alone. But no, that won’t actually help either of them. She asked for his honesty last night and terrifying as it is, he’ll be damned if he chickens out now. Karen would never let him live it down.

She appears caught up in the flower arrangement, but the way she fiddles with the white and yellow wildflowers lacks coherence. She’s just keeping her hands occupied.

_Okay. Man up, Smither_ s. “Alex?”

“Yeah?” But she keeps her attention firmly on the flowers. “I’m almost done, I only—“

“Look at me,” he interrupts firmly but softly. Not willing to let her hide. “Alex, we need to talk.”

Hurt flares in his chest when she shakes her head, downtrodden curls flying left and right. “No. Matt, we don’t.”

“But I—“

“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have pushed you. There’s no reason – you have no obligation to tell me anything. I shouldn’t have – it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

Ah, what now? Alex picks up the flowers and bustles past him to the sitting room. For a long moment he stares at the sink, dumbfounded. How are they supposed to have a proper conversation when Alex continues to shut him out?

Pulling himself together he strides after her.

The vase has been deposited on a wooden end table and Alex – with her back to him again – is staring out the window overlooking a small garden. Before he can stop himself, Matt steps up behind her and lays a hand on her shoulder. She tenses instantly and finally swirls around to face him.

With some effort he ignores the surprise on her features and directs her to the sofa. “Sit.”

But she digs her heels in, her voice both warning and pleading. “Matt.”

“We have to talk,” he stresses, holding her gaze.

After a moment something gives in her expression. “So talk.”

He flounders for a bit. Jump-starting a conversation like this isn’t exactly easy. A script would come in handy right now. Oh. “All I really have to do is ask, yeah?”

She must hear something in his tone, her features pensive for a moment until she catches the reference. Then, eyes narrowing, Alex gives him a grim look. “If you’re going to talk, at least use your own words.”

His heart drops. “Well it’s not easy to talk to you when you’re like this.” The word leave him before he can think about them and just like that, Alex is on the defensive. He can read it in her posture.

“Like what?”

Frustrated with himself, with her, Matt grunts and throws up his hands in surrender. “Guarded – hiding, afraid. Take your pick.”

She blanches. “What?”

Having started down that path, he forces himself to follow through with a confidence that’s at least partially faked. Messing this up is not an option. “You know what I mean Alex. I just want to talk with you, that’s what you wanted yeah? So no backtracking now. All the cards on the table.”

He tries very hard not to fidget under her scrutinizing stare and finds himself utterly fascinated watching the emotions coalesce on her face. Rather than the hesitation he expected – and it’s there, but quickly overshadowed and smothered by a calm he hasn’t seen in her for a long, long time. She purses her lips and nods. “Go on then.” He envies her ability to push aside her irritation at his earlier words for the sake of going forward, but it’s still there in the tension of her jaw.

“Okay.” He scrubs at the back of his neck. Truth to be told, he’d half expected never to get to this point. At least not today. “I’m not sure how to…”

Alex waves at him impatiently. Her calm façade cracks in the face of his indecision and he’s almost too busy berating himself to notice her twist her mouth in discomfort and carefully, deliberately shift her weight in an effort to shift some of her weight to the window she’s leaning against. He recognizes the move all too well.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

Immediately she tenses and her wonderful voice holds a warning. “Matt.”

“I’m just saying.” He throws his hands up. It’s becoming increasingly difficult not to take her rebuffals personally. Actually, he’s already passed that station if he’s honest. He tries to laugh it off now, but Alex is having none of it; crossing her arms under her chest and fixing him with an unforgiving glare.

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you stopped. I don’t need—“

“--my help. Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear.” Really, he’s not daft. How often do they need to have this particular conversation before he gets through to her? “It’s not about needing my help, Alex. I’m offering. Why can’t you just accept that?” And then, because she’s not giving an inch – because it hurts; “Haven’t I earned your trust?”

She wavers but ultimately holds her ground. “It has nothing to do with trust.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“Then what is it? Because honestly, I’m at a loss.” He refuses to take his eyes off her, refuses too to give in to the anxiety burning in his chest. One way or another they need to hash this out, for both their sakes. She was right last night and he isn’t going to let her run now. If that means he has to bare his heart to her – to rip it out of his chest and hold it out to her – well… “I don’t know what else to do to make you understand that I want to be there for you.”

“I can take care of myself.” There it is again: a flicker of doubt, of – dare he say, _longing_ in her eyes. Two steps forward, one step back still means progress.

“I know! God, Alex, do you really think I don’t know how strong you are? That I haven’t seen first hand how you will do anything to keep your daughter safe. You’re a brilliant mom and one hell of an actress and you’re one of the strongest, most amazing women I know. But you don’t have to do this alone!” Chest heaving with the enormity of his feelings for her, he holds her eyes and wills her to see.

But she sets her jaw and stubbornly shouts back at him. “Yes I do!”

“Why? Why do you refuse to let me in? Am I too young? Too inexperienced? Have I misread the chemistry between us all this time?” Then, quieter – regretful: “sometimes I think maybe I have.”

Finally she softens. She breaks eye contact and ducks her head, golden curls spilling across her face. “No, you don’t understand, Matt…”

But his emotions aren’t quite as mercurial as hers. Hurt and frustration still burn underneath his breastbone. “Then explain it to me. I think I deserve that much, don’t you?”

“Why do you refuse to let this go?” She looks at him, green eyes beseeching and so, so vulnerable. So achingly beautiful as she stammers, her voice fragile and his chest tight, his skin hurting – useless in containing his feelings. “I have told you – am telling you, I don’t need—“

When her voice breaks, so does he. “Because I’m in love with you!”

Her eyes snap to his and breath stalls in his lungs as his words hang between them in the sudden and deafening silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet some of you didn't think that would ever happen!


	54. Chapter 54

In the wake of his confession, the world turns upside down. Unable to look another moment at Alex’s deer-in-the-headlight expression, Matt abruptly turns to look at the wall behind him and cusses heartfelt at himself. “Shit. _Shit_. **Shit!** That’s not how—“

“You don’t love me.”

He snaps back to look at Alex so quickly he nearly gives himself a whiplash. “Don’t say that.”

She flounders a bit, her face a picture of confusion and distress. “This is exactly why – don’t you see? You only think you feel that way because of what happened.”

“Bullshit. Ask Karen, ask me mum, ask bloody Moffat! I’ve been head over heels for you long before fucking Daniel Chance!”

She gapes at him and the frustration drains from his chest. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but now that the words are out in the open, he feels lighter. Calmer. He’s been holding it in for six, nearly seven months now – not that long in the grand scheme of things and considering everything she’s been going through, he is glad that he did. But now that the confession is out there, now that she _knows_ , he finds back the confidence he’d lost ever since she went back to the States.

All he has to do now is show her.

Alex looks at him with those green, impossible eyes and he can practically see the cogs turning in her head. “So all this time…”

“I wanted to be there for you. As a friend if nothing else. But God, Kingston, you have no idea how stunningly brilliant you are. I’ve wanted you, wanted to be with you for the longest time. That’s why I was at the airport that night.” He dares to step closer, imploring her, “you must have known.”

“You can’t.” As much as it hurts to hear her so unsure, she’s yet to say she doesn’t feel the same way – or that she never could. And he hopes fervently that it’s shock that makes her deny him.

“Of course I can. I am. You’re brilliant, so bloody generous and _kind_. The way you are with your daughter, or how you talk about your work. That ridiculous, dirty, _maddening_ sense of humour. Your curls, voice – god, you’re stunning, Alex. How could I not? Don’t tell me I can’t. When you went missing my world stopped.”

She looks at him as if he just grew a second head and turns away from him with a sharp intake of breath. “No. No. You’re having me on.”

“Look at me.” When she doesn’t, he approaches her. He’d very much like to beat up her two ex-husbands and the Chances for making her so wary. Determined not to let her hide from him ever again, he gently nudges at her shoulder to make her face him.

As soon as their eyes meet, she breaks. “Matt, I can’t.” Her voice hitching in a half-sob might be the most heartbreaking sound he’s ever heard.

He sobers, surrenders in a way. “I know. And I meant it when I said I’m not going to push for something you’re not ready for. But you wanted the truth and this is it. I’m in love with you. And I know that’s not… not how you feel and that’s all right. It is. But at least let me help you.”

For one glorious moment he thinks she might just let him. Her eyes glitter with unshed tears and she sways ever so slightly towards him as if hoping for a hug, but then she crosses her arms and drops her head. “I… I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to do this alone.”

Anger flares in his chest. Too much is at stake, too many emotions and hopes and fears have been coursing through him these past days to keep his cool. But he swallows them down again. “Why? Tell me.”

“Because this is what I do. What I always do!” Her voice rises to a pitch he’s rarely his from her, still maintaining that throaty, purring quality even when harsh with frustration. “I cling to people like a bloody parasite. Every time things get rough I hide in a relationship. Fool myself into thinking I’ve moved on when really I’m just terrified to be on my own. After Ralph it was Claudia and then Florian and now… you deserve better. _They deserved better_. Matt, I’m a wreck. An old hag with more baggage than an LAX conveyor belt. I’m no good for you. That’s why I have to do this alone. It’s time for me to grow up and stop burdening others with my problems.” Tears are rolling down her cheeks, but she refuses to acknowledge them. Her jaw is set in a strong line, determined and her eyes are spitting fire. She makes him feel both so incredibly sad and breathlessly impressed.

In a way he does understand. She spends so much time being other people and balancing her life with her ex-husband and her family and friends – of course she needs to feel in control of something; to have some part of her life that is not dependent on others. But at the same time, accepting help, seeking support does not take away from that.

Aware that the latter is not something he’ll be able to convince her of right now, he settles for the more baser truth: “you have never been – will never be – a burden to me.” Also, Claudia? But no, not the time. Still. Claudia.

She looks up at him then, her eyes wide and wet and so bright and he can see his words reaching her, watches closely – breathlessly as something in her softens and gives. She doesn’t have to say anything, in that moment he knows he’s reached her.

Without taking his eyes off hers, he curls his fingers around her elbow and tugs her to him, half expecting her to draw back once more. Instead she lets him wrap his arms around her and presses the side of her face to his chest, riotous curls spilling over his shoulder and tickling up his nose. Her scent envelops him, spicy and earthy. She’s trembling and he takes a moment to curse at himself for not making her sit down earlier. “I need time,” she whispers so softly he nearly misses it. “I don’t know how I feel. And Matt, you… you _deserve_ …”

He silences her by squeezing his arms tighter around her. “That’s all right. Just, don’t shut me out, yeah?”

She looks up at him and studies him with a curious expression for a long moment and he half expects her to pull away. She doesn’t. She’s looking for some kind of insight though, he can see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice when she finds the words. “How can you be so calm? How am-- is this not driving you crazy?”

Not entirely sure what she’s aiming at – though he can guess – he stalls. “What do you mean?”

“If it’s true,” she ventures after a while, “if you do… It’s been six months since and you’ve been so calm, so _patient_. Aren’t you frustrated?” He’s still struggling with his answer when Alex quietly admits; “I am.”

Matt swallows hard. “Why?”

Tension starts to seep into her muscles, he can feel her harden in his arms and reluctantly lets her go when she pulls away in an attempt to expel some of her frustration. It shows in the rigidness of her spine, her balled fists. Her eyes burn. “Because it’s been six months. I should do better, _be_ better.”

“Alex, you can’t rush…”

“Yes I can! It’s _my_ life, isn’t it? I haven’t been myself for six god-forsaken months. Don’t you think it’s enough already?!”

It’s difficult not to feed off her vexation and mirror it because he does feel it too, but he knows she’s not trying to rile him. She’s directing this at herself, blaming herself for needing time, for not healing quicker, for not controlling her emotions better. “I think you need time.”

There’s so much tension and frustration rolling off her, he’s almost worried it’ll tear her apart as she rages on, her curls and eyes wild, her voice rasped. “I’ve had time! I’ve had help and support and time and I’m still a mess. Every time I think I’m properly healing something happens and I’m so _tired_ of it Matthew. I just want my life back. Is that so much to ask?”

“It’s not.”

And then just as quickly as she slipped into the almost manic episode, she’s soft and unsure again. “How can you love me like this?” His heart beats anxiously in his chest, uncomfortable in the face of her emotional state. What’s going on that these emotions are entirely overpowering her?

They stare at each other – him desperately trying to figure out what to say and do, her panting harshly and visibly trying to get a hold on herself and biting on the inside of her cheek in an attempt to do so.

“I feel like my entire life is spinning out of control. Salome is growing up so quickly, my career is increasingly split across continents and now Flo ---“ she stops herself short then and sighs warily, dragging her fingers through her curls roughly and surreptitiously rolling her hips and flexing her shoulder to ease the psychical discomfort she must be experiencing. “And look at me, not even capable of controlling my own bloody emotions. I’m a bloody actress, I should be able to manage at least that.”

“You’ve barely slept in the last forty-eight hours. You’re exhausted.”

“Don’t make excuses for me.”

“It’s not an excuse. I’m just trying to help,” Matt defends himself.

Alex growls at that. The sound instantly putting him on alert. “Do you realize how inept that makes me feel? You keeping saying I’m so amazing and brilliant. I’m not, Matt. We can’t all be as ruddy perfect as you. I’m just human. I screw up, I can be petty and stupid and selfish.”

“I know that.”

“You don’t love me,” she states flatly and she may as well have punched him in the gut. “You love the idea of me – a perfect, infallible me.”

“I’m quite done with you dismissing my feelings so casually,” he snaps. “Of course I know you’re not perfect. I’ve been trying to help you and you’ve pushed me away. I’ve been calm and supportive and you’ve dismissed me, denied me. One moment you treat me like a close friend – someone you trust and care for – but the next it’s like I don’t exist. Like you think I’m just some stupid fan boy vying for your attention. So yes, of course I know you’re not perfect!”

When he manages to get the feelings burning in his chest back under control, breathing harshly, – when he realizes what he just shouted at her, he barely dares to look at her. When he does however, he is baffled to find something close to relief in her green eyes.

Not for the first time during these past few days, he feels like there’s more going on with her than he’s aware of. And just as he determines to find out what the door behind him creaks open, making both of them jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not as big of a step forward as you were hoping for, but at least she's not running?


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So technically it's monday where I am. I won't tell if you won't...

They both jump when the door to the hallway suddenly opens and Claudia appears. She’s carrying a paper bag with presumably breakfast and takes her sweet time taking in their body language and the palpable tension in the air. “Sorry,” she remarks dryly, “am I interrupting something?”

Matt sneaks a glance in Alex’s direction, unsure how to handle himself and catches her rolling her eyes.

Claudia is immune and grins in a manner that suggest that from here on out things are going to go her way. “Yeah, I do think I am. Sit before you keel over, Lexy.” He likes Claudia. She’s tall and gorgeous and funny and so very important to Alex. She’s also chosen the worst possible moment to interrupt them. Sure, things weren’t going as well as he’d hoped considering he’d finally told Alex how he feels about her, but still. They were going somewhere.

“Don’t tell me what to do. And don’t call me that.”

There’s an odd, childish satisfaction that steels over him when Alex snaps at her best friend. “I’ll call you whatever I like as long as you’re being a stubborn twit. You’re shaking like a leaf. _Sit_ _down_.” He’s never heard anyone be so casually bossy towards Alex.

With Alex’s earlier confession in mind, he sees the two women in a different light. There are so many subtle exchanges between them as Claudia casually strides through the room to deposit the groceries in the kitchen. He sees now the way Alex, despite grumbling under her breath, seems just a little more at ease for Claudia’s presence and sits down with a little huff. The affection that underlines everything they say to one another, the looks they exchange suddenly take on a different meaning. It is a bit jealous-making, and a bit intimidating.

He accidentally meets Alex’s gaze, arrested once more by how beautiful she is. There’s a familiar fire in her eyes, a strength in the set of her shoulders that easily draws him in and has been absent for too long. She looks pale and worn and she’s still a bit vexed and vulnerability shines through in her posture and eyes.

After a minute, Claudia reappears. “Well then,” she announces cheerfully – completely ignoring the awkwardness, “let’s get you two sorted, hmm?”

“We’re fine,” Alex mumbles.

“Obviously. Now, let’s see – judging by the panic in your eyes, Matt has fessed up how he feels. Excellent. Well done Matt.”

They both gape at her.

Unperturbed, Claudia continues, her tone all business. “That probably means you’re feeling blindsided – which makes you the only one on the bloody planet, but let’s pretend this actually came as a surprise. You need to adjust to the idea. That really leaves only one logical option, doesn’t it?” She looks at both of them expectantly, but Matt honestly doesn’t have a clue what she’s aiming at.

Alex is clearly a little reserved about whatever option Claudia has thought off. She’s glaring at her friend so hard, Matt half expects the brunette’s hair to catch on fire.

No such thing happens of course. Instead, Claudia turns her full attention on him and stabs her index finger in his direction. “You’re going to give her some time to adjust – not too long or she’ll talk herself out of it – and then you’re going to take her out on a date.”

Instinctively he looks to Alex for confirmation only to find her scrutinizing her nails. At least it’s not a no. Feeling a bit like he did when his mum forced him to slow dance with a girl on his twelfth birthday, Matt nods sheepishly. A proper date. Holy hell, on what kind of date does one take a woman like Alex Kingston?

Claudia claps him on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “You’ll figure it out.”

He meets her sharp blue eyes. “Did I just say that out loud?”

“You didn’t have to, love. Now, you’d better go and think about where to take her. Florian all but convinced her to marry him on their first date, so if you…” she trails off, freezing. From the corner of his eyes he sees Alex flinch. Old hurt permeates the air.

Frantically searching his brain for something to break the sudden tension, Matt comes up empty. It’s Claudia who recovers first. She scrapes her throat and glances apologetically at her friend. “Nothing too expensive, and don’t take her to the movies. The point is to talk. Now, off you go.”

With all the subtlety of a first year drama-student, she herds him out of the room. Still a bit dazed from the rollercoaster he’s just been on and Claudia’s almost otherworldly calm and decisiveness, he only just manages to glance back towards Alex and catch her eyes. “It’s a date then, yeah?”

She twists her mouth in a wry, but not reluctant smile. “Apparently, Mr. Smith.”

And despite the utter insanity of the last hours – days, even, Matt finds himself grinning from ear to ear. “Excellent! I’ll call you.”

“You’d better,” Claudia stresses, and unceremoniously pushes him out the front door.

For the rest of the day he turns the conversation with Alex over and over in his mind, pondering all the things she said and those she hadn’t said. Weighing her needs against his in the hopes of finding a way to move forward. As aware as he is that they have much to figure out, by the end of the day his face is hurts from the face-splitting grin he’s been wearing ever since leaving Alex’s.

A date!

Definitely not taking her to the movies. Watching films is almost like homework for them – the only type of movies either of them manages to sit through without analyzing it to bits are typically the really bad ones or horror/thriller flicks and well, those aren’t exactly suitable for a first date.

Dinner seems the logical choice really, but he’s a bit loath to take her to any of the places in Cardiff they’ve visited before. That could push them back into the friend zone and that’s the last place he wants to be. On the other hand, a restaurant they haven’t visited before just opens up the possibility of media-speculation and already the Cardiff-studios are under scrutiny of watchful eyes hoping to catch spoilers about the Who series finale. Besides, if something is going to make Alex feel even less in control it’s having their date splattered all over the internet before it’s even finished.

He could take her bowling. Or miniature golfing. They could drive up to the beach for a walk. Though at late October in Whales that might not be a very pleasant experience. Tickets to the local theatre? No, that used to be her shtick with Arthur.

Gah.

Okay. Criteria. Nothing too public, nothing that won’t allow them to talk, nothing too cliché, nothing they’ve done or been to before, nothing too tiring because they’ll have been shooting and will probably have an early call. _Well, good luck with that, Smithers_.

In the evening he distracts himself by calling his mum. It’s been a while and she’s inordinately pleased to hear from him, worrying about how much he works and complaining she only sees him on TV these days – why did both her children go through such lengths not to see her? But yes, her and his Dad were doing just fine on their own – “nice and quiet, love. Like the old days, but less sex” _Mum!_. And of course she picks up on his distracted, though cheerful state of mind. He can feel her trying not to pry, but eventually she can’t help herself. “You sound happy, Matt.”

He shrugs, pleased she can’t see him blush. “I’m always happy.”

Lynne gives a sceptical hum. “Yes, but not like this. In fact, I haven’t heard you this happy in quite a while.”

“Just looking forward to shooting tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes. Ms. Kingston is returning, is she not?”

Very nearly he does a spit take with his lukewarm coffee. “What?”

“You said she was coming back to film. That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Feeling very much caught out, he goes for a cool “maybe”.

His mother chuckles softly and he knows exactly the way her eyes are twinkling with a fond _I know you too well, my son_. He probably should mind a bit more than he does. “No need to be bashful, my dear. How has she been?”

Despite his absolute inability to keep secrets from his mum, he answers her vaguely in an effort to protect Alex’s privacy. He tells her Alex is doing better without offering details even though they are burning on his tongue. He’d love an outside perspective, though admittedly his mum might not be the best choice. Still, he can’t help but blurt, “I’m taking her on a date”.

The beat between his rushed words and her answering, weary call of his given name is heavy with words unsaid. It’s not that she disapproves, per se, but his mother has made it clear that Alex is not the partner she’d envisioned for her son. And although Matt knows that when push comes to shove his parents will always support and love him, it still stings.

Considering the emotional rollercoaster today has already been, he has little desire to argue with his mother. But he’s determined to try and make things work with Alex and that means that sooner or later mum will have to make her peace with it and so he pulls on his big boy pants and aims for sooner.

Just as she starts to form a more substantive reply, he cuts her off.

“Remember what you used to say to me when Lor would tease me that I’d never get a girlfriend because of my chin and my hair and my clumsiness and – well – everything, really. God, she was a mean little girl.”

Lynne sighs quietly. “Don’t talk about your sister like that. And yes, of course I remember.”

Truth is, he hadn’t until just moments ago. Funny how the mind works isn’t it? He hadn’t been terribly concerned with girls or dating in his teens. Focused on football as he was, dating had seemed a silly waste of time and once football was no longer an option, he’d spent a good amount of time mourning the career he’d never have. It hadn’t been until drama school that he’d had his first proper girlfriend.

Sasha had been perfectly fine. A pretty, blond girl. She studied English lit, loved shopping and kids and his mum had thought her too average for him. Because that’s what she’d always told him when Lor made a hobby out of pointing out his flaws.

Matt closes his eyes and repeats his mother’s words back to her. “You said that out there was a girl with a big forehead or nose, clever and funny and she’d probably tease me too, but I wouldn’t mind when she did. I’d be clumsy on purpose just to make her laugh and she’d love me for who I am, and love my chin and my hair and my clumsiness too and I’d love her big forehead or nose – or both.”

He snorts, then pauses, throat suddenly constricted.

“Turns out she just has big hair. Really big hair. Mum, I don’t know if she loves me or if she ever will, but I have to find out because I’ve never felt anything like this. Not for Sasha, or Daisy or… I know it’s not what you want for me, but I don’t mind when she teases me and I trip on purpose to make her laugh.” He swallows and blinks back the tears welling up, caught off guard by the memory and the depth of his feelings for Alex.

“Oh Matthew…” Is she sniffling? God, he did not just make his mother cry! She doesn’t repeat the sound, thankfully, but her voice does waver slightly. “You know we’ll support you no matter what. Just… look out for yourself, yeah? And bring her flowers – ones a little more imaginative than roses.”

He grins, relaxing. “Yes mum.” It may not be the whole-hearted endorsement he’d been hoping for, but it’ll do for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's also 1.30 am and I have to work in the morning so my apologies for not replying to your wonderful comments. Rest assured this chapter would've been a lot shorter if you hadn't all been so kind and enthusiastic! Hope you've enjoyed this one too :-)


	56. Chapter 56

The prospect of a real date with Alex, buzzes through Matt’s entire body for the rest of his time in London. Even a lengthy skype call with his sister and a previously taped footie-match can’t take his mind off the concept of _Alex_ and _date_. While packing he finds himself singing random songs and considering his outfit for the date.

Adhering to Claudia’s advice (he’d quickly learned that was a wise choice in pretty much all circumstances), he resists the urge to call of text Alex. He won’t see her until they’re expected at the BBC Cardiff Studios early Wednesday morning for the last table read of the season.

When he walks onto set late Tuesday afternoon to pick up Jenna, who’s reshooting a few scenes, it suddenly strikes him that if he does leave Who, this will be the last proper episode he’ll film. Yes, the 50th is coming up and maybe a Christmas Special after, but that’ll be it. Assuming of course his Scottish boss is going to let him resign. Knowing how headstrong Steven can be, he gives himself a fifty-fifty chance.

Honestly, he has no clue how to bring up his decision with Steven. He’d already agreed to another full season. It’s just… things are different. He is different. And it would be easy to cite the whole experience with Alex as the reason – that he’s come to realize how quickly time moves when one doesn’t have a time machine. And while that may be part of it, it’s more to do with him and less with her.

He’s grown restless lately. He’s seeing patterns where there were none before. Variations on the same questions from fans, the same routine each day on set and no matter how engaging and brilliant the stories are, it doesn’t feel like he’s going anywhere. Instead it feels as if he could be The Doctor another four years and still be in the same place. And then what?

Alex had been right (usually is), this choice has to be his and for his sake. And he needs to move on.

It’s a bit nerve-wracking really, because it’s not like he has a slew of projects or offers lined up. There’s no script to follow once he breaks with the Who-verse, no incredibly talented crew to fall back on or guide him. It’ll just be him and his – admittedly not too shabby – savings. He’ll simply be another hopeful, slightly odd face in an industry where so very few ever properly make it.

God, if RADA-trained Alex bloody Kingston didn’t make the A-list, what hope does he have? She is so much more talented and experienced than he is.

Suddenly the uncertainty of his future paralyzes him. Leaving _Who_ could prove to be professional suicide. Is he really willing to throw away the one piece of stability he has? It’s not like he has a stellar and stable personal life at the moment. Immeasurably lighter as he feels for baring his heart to Alex, there’s no telling what will happen between them. Six months from now he could be broken-hearted, lacking a good and dear friend and without a job.

What is he thinking, his mum would wonder.

And maybe she has a point. He feels driven by an intrinsic restlessness more than by rationale. The Actor’s Itch one of his mentors at _National Youth Theatre_ called it. Maybe it’s as simple as that; whatever happens, this is not where he wants to be a year from now.

With that realization, he pushes open the heavy steel door and slips inside.

The crew greets him as if he’s been away for weeks rather than days. He makes sure not to distract Jenna and watches his co-star avidly. He doesn’t often get the chance to watch her work simply because they usually have scenes together and when ever they don’t, he’s usually required to shoot scenes of his own in a different part of the complex.

Jenna is enthusiastic and bubbly with a deadpan sense of humour that rivals Arthur’s but as soon as the cameras start rolling she’s all business. He admires her focus and her ability to keep a straight face whenever he trips over something. Karen certainly never granted him that dignity.

She finishes the scene and rolls her eyes dramatically when he applauds. “We’ve got two hours before Richard comes down to take me out, so by God I hope you’re better prepared this time.” She stands before him with her hands on her hips. It would look a little more impressive if her eyes weren’t sparkling fondly and if she reached his shoulders. As it is, she looks so adorable he just wants to pick her up and put her in his pocket.

“I’d never dream of coming between you and a date with your man.” Under his breath: “learned that the hard way.”

Jenna thumbs her index finger against his chest. “And don’t you forget it.”

Initially he’d thought her a bit mad for wanting to run lines before the table read, but he gets that she wants to impress Alex tomorrow. Although they met briefly before the summer break, Jenna has yet to spend any real time with his on-screen wife. And, considering how often she’s told him she was a huge fan of Alex’s ER character, he knows it’s a big deal for her.

As it turns out, running lines now will work out better for him too because he’ll have more time later on in the week for rather more important things like wooing Alex.

Because he practiced with Alex on Sunday, he and Jenna get quite a lot of scenes done. Much to his co-star’s surprise. After he’s sent her off to her boyfriend, he fires off a quick text to Alex. By now it’s been more than thirty-six hours since he’s seen or spoken to her and that’s about as long as he’s able to handle.

_Taking Claudia’s advice. Thursday after filming okay?_

He doesn’t hear back from her for nearly two hours – and he does _not_ check his phone at thirty-second intervals until he does.

_Thursday works for me_. He reads her reply over and over again in a futile attempt to detect some measure of subtext, but in the end decides that as long as she doesn’t bail on him, little else matters.

But then a second message follows.

_You don’t have to listen to Claudia btw. She’s a nosy, bossy witch but ultimately harmless_. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the not-so-hidden message in those words.

He rewrites his message a couple of times, suddenly conscious of the limits of text-only communication. _I’m not so sure about that. I’ve wanted this for a long time, Kingston. That’s all you. Not your bossy friend ;)_

Feeling a bit like a nervous teenager he anxiously awaits her reply. When his phone buzzes, his stomach flips. _Thursday it is then, darling_.

It’s not exactly as enthusiastic as he’d hoped, but it’ll do.

He reads the revived endearment again, grinning. Oh yes, it’ll definitely do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit short, but some times that's just how it goes unfortunately :(
> 
> Once again I thank you all for your brilliant comments and for taking the time to read the stuff my brain comes up with! Until next week :)


	57. Chapter 57

The table read Wednesday morning is all kinds of weird and wonderful. It’s absolutely hilarious to watch Jenna fall all over herself to impress Alex. _Clearly_ she’s not nearly as cool as he was when first shooting with The Kingston.

The looks Alex throws him every now and then imply otherwise.

Having Alex back on set is more than wonderful. It almost makes up for Karen and Arthur’s absence and the tension between them is less of an obstacle than he expected. Even so he gives her space. Of course he flirts and talks with her – avoiding her would be as impossible as avoiding gravity – but he makes a conscious effort to leave her alone every so often. Give her time to sort her thoughts and spend time with other cast- and crewmembers. Every time he looks at her, his stomach does a little summersault. Tomorrow he’s taking her on a _date_. A date! It’s extremely hard to keep the elation off his face – to not burst out in song and dance.

He manages though, because can tell she’s a bit uncomfortable with all the attention from those who were around last time and she works hard to prove to everyone she’s fully recovered. He knows differently but wouldn’t dream of thwarting her efforts, or of disturbing the tentative equilibrium by proclaiming his excitement _en plain publique_.

She looks better than she did in London and he’s pretty sure that it isn’t just due to the makeup she wears. No, she seems calmer and better rested. The dark rings under her eyes are gone and it isn’t until they’re going through the script for a third time than she begins to shift uncomfortably in her chair and rubs a hand surreptitiously along her lower back. If things between them were a little further or earlier down the line he’d offer her a backrub. Instead he brings her tea and asks stupid questions about a scene she isn’t in to give her a bit of time to relax.

When they break, he watches her gingerly rise from her seat and head for the door. “You okay, Kingston?”

To his utter surprise she shakes her head at him with a rueful smile. “Sore back, I’m just going to see if I can walk it off.”

His own back twinges a little in empathy. He knows exactly how it feels to have your back be a weak point. It’s not always easy and because pretty much every time you move your back is somehow involved there’s really no choice but to soldier on. Giving her a sympathetic smile in return he briefly touches her elbow, trying desperately to repress the resulting shiver. From the corner of his eye he spots Jenna approaching them. “I’ll distract my new companion for a bit, yeah wife?”

Her green eyes gleam fondly. “She’s lovely.”

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

“Oh, shut up.” But she’s laughing and thumping his shoulder and then she’s walking away and his eyes drop to her –

“Matt?”

Slightly miffed, he turns to Jenna. “What?”

She fixes him with a _look_. “Where you just checking out Alex Kingston’s bum?”

God, he is not blushing. _Act casual Smithers_. “So what?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s an excellent bum.” The naughty smirk playing around her lips gives her away.

“Where _you_ just checking out her bum?”

Jenna grins up at him unrepentantly. “Totally! She’s pretty amazing. So warm and all that hair and that _voice_. Ugh, I want to be her when I grow up – or do her. Think she’ll have me if I get rid of Richard?”

Why is everyone always flirting with Alex? Even straight-as-they-come Karen hadn’t been able to help herself. And since everyone is always flirting with her, why is everyone also always making fun of him for flirting with her? So if his response comes out just a little possessive, well, no one can blame him. “Fat chance, urchin.”

“Oi! Think you have a better shot with than chin?!”

Affronted, he rubs his hand along the mentioned chin. “Hey, I’m handsome in an interesting way!”

“Yeah, so was Quasimodo.”

Pointedly ignoring the way she rolls her eyes, Matt beams at his co-star. “He got the girl, didn’t he?”

Jenna bristles. “Oh pooh.”

“So well-spoken.”

“Shut up Smith.”

“Only because it’s impolite to hit a lady when she’s already down.” He tips his imaginary hat and moves onto a new subject smoothly, careful to keep an eye on the door to catch Alex’s return. As fun as it is to rile Jenna, he wants today to go smoothly. They spend the remainder of the break discussing the scene at the Maitland’s.

Alex sneaks back in after ten minutes or so and other than trail off mid-sentence he manages not to drop everything and head over to her. She looks fine but there’s a tightness around her mouth that belies her discomfort. She’s quickly cornered by Steven and he hopes fervently that the Scot has changed his mind and wants her involved in the 50th.

After the break the focus moves to the more subtle inflections and exchanges. Steven still hasn’t finished River’s farewell and Matt finds himself caught off guard when Alex decides to improvise. “Don’t be a sentimental idiot.”

He’s so baffled he doesn’t have the presence of mind to go along with it.

“You could rewrite everything! Your whole life.”

Looking uncertainly at Steven, he finally finds his voice. “I have to try.”

Alex looks at him with glittering eyes. “For once, will you just _listen_ to me?”

They’re exchanging lines right now with some of the expressions and body language, but not the full on acting they will immerse themselves in for the next couple of weeks and yet her voice makes it so easy to picture River beseeching her husband with desperate eyes. Would Steven really be so cruel as to have the Doctor unaware of her presence? He shakes his head and refuses to believe that until he sees the script. “I always listen.”

Alex’s eyes soften. “We’ll find a way.”

The Doctor would believe her, were she not a painful reminder of his failing to save her. “All the times she died for me – I can’t just… I have to – _River_.”

Steven breaks the moment. “Okay, let’s move on to the next scene. Jenna?” The Doctor’s newest companion picks up so smoothly Matt doesn’t have time to examine why he feels something is off. He does catch Alex and Steven exchange a look.

It’s not until they break for lunch he has the chance to ask Alex about it. Like the Doctor, he isn’t overly fond of things pertaining to his individual being kept from him. “Adding improv to your repertoire, Kingston?” His breath catches at the naughty twinkle in her eyes.

She all but purrs at him in a voice that shouldn’t be legal in public: “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent improviser in the right circumstances.” His whole body goes cold, then hot and by the time he’s able to form a reply she’s already out of the room.

Muttering something indecent under his breath, Matt hurries after her. “Nice deflection,” he compliments when he catches up with her, “but out with it.”

“Steven’s not happy with what he has. I think he hoped for some inspiration. And you…” she waves an accusing finger in his face, though her expression is soft and sympathetic, “you haven’t told him.”

Though she doesn’t specify, he knows exactly what she’s talking about. “I will.”

“Matt.”

“I will! It’s just… it’s a big deal. And I sort of already agreed to another season.”

“ _Matt_.”

“I don’t want to piss him off. Have you seen him angry?” He gives an exaggerated shudder, throwing her his best I’m harmless face.

“Postponing won’t make it easier. Unless you’re having second thoughts?”

She’s so impossibly soft and understanding in this moment – her voice gentle and kind and her expression utterly devoid of judgement – these were the moments he fell in love with her, it warms him to his very soul (and isn’t that funny, because he’d never truly believed in souls but he’s pretty sure that if someone where to split open his chest right now, there’d be one settled right under his breastbone, glowing the watery green of her eyes).

“Are you having second thoughts?”

Startled out if his – admittedly somewhat sappy – thoughts, he fights back a blush. “No. No. But I might be a bit—“

“Scared?” This Alex he fell in love with too; the one fondly mocking him.

“Anxious. I’m not scared!”

She pats him consolingly on his elbow. “If you say so, darling.”

“I absolutely do.”

“Look Matt, it’s none of my business, but if you’re sure you have to tell him. He won’t be mad unless you don’t give him enough time to find a successor.”

“I know.” And he does, truly. Some things are just easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for missing last week and then putting up something like this. Life's been crazy, but I just didn't want to miss another week - cos you know, slippery slope and all that.
> 
> I can't thank you all enough for reading and commenting and I wish I had time to reply to your wonderful comments but yeah - life and such.
> 
> Next week will bring a better chapter and - cross my heart and hope to die - the date!


	58. Chapter 58

“I hate you.”

“Yeah yeah, you’ve said.” Claudia’s disembodied voice sounds through the small bedroom, as ever tinged with fond amusement. Alex turns to glare at the bed where her cell phone lies innocently. “And don’t glare so hard. If the clock strikes your face is gonna stay that way.”

“Ugh. If my hands weren’t bloody covered in cream I’d disconnect you.”

“Ah, but then who would save poor Matthew from the embarrassment of being stood up by Alex Kingston?”

Furiously scrubbing the lotion into her skin, Alex rolls her eyes. “I’m sure he’ll cope.”

“I don’t know Curly, the boy’s a goner.”

_Boy_. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”

Sounding entirely too smug for her own good, Claudia chuckles merrily. “Technically I didn’t. You always were good at following orders.” After a pause and with a shit-eating grin that doesn’t have to be visible to be noticed, “mine, anyway.”

“Hate you. So much.” Hands clean, Alex reconsiders switching off the phone.

“Have you decided on an outfit yet?”

With a shake of her head she pads over to her closet and pulls her dressing robe a bit tighter around her waist to ward of the November chill. “Something layered I think.”

“Where is he taking you?”

“He won’t say.” She takes a breath, but it does little to ease the knot of nerves in her stomach. “But he hinted at something outside. The weather’s been amazing. Not that it matters much because I should cancel.”

Half across London her best friend hums. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous before a date since those first few with Ralph.”

“I’m not.”

“Ahuh.”

Frustrated with herself, she runs her fingers through her curls. Seeing as she hasn’t actually cancelled, best to get on with the preparations. It’s not like she’s got a lot of time and at her age, everything seems to take longer than it used to. “I thought you called for mental support,” Alex accuses while she shifts through her shirts and sweaters.

“Meh. I lied.”

Truthfully, she wishes Claudia was physically present. It’d be nice – a throwback to their days at RADA when she’d be getting ready for a date with Ralph and Claudia would entertain herself by mocking everything Alex pulled out of her closet. Or later, when they’d be getting ready for a date together and – more often than not – would get distracted.

Her fingers trail over her favourite dress – utterly inappropriate considering it’s November, but she considers it for a moment anyway. It’s useless. There’s nothing here she feels like wearing.

Dejectedly she drops down on her bed and considers blowing the whole thing off once more. Ever the mind reader, Claudia cuts through her thoughts.

“If you’re going to pass, send him over to mine, yeah? He doesn’t look half-bad.”

“Sure thing. How d’you figure Allison will take it?”

“With that bum? Happily.” Despite herself, Alex snorts at her friend’s utterly filthy inflection. “Seriously, she’s got a thing for the Eleventh. Something about the cheekbones.”

“Hmm, they are quite something.”

“See, why would you pass that up?”

Giving the wardrobe another try, she stalls.

And stalls.

But Claudia can be stubborn as a mule and equally as patient. By the time she’s reluctantly selected jeans and a dark purple tunic with green accents and Claudia still hasn’t spoken, she quietly mumbles her answer.

“What was that?”

“I’m not ready.”

Ever since re-establishing contact with Claudia after their falling out over her wedding to Florian, Alex has often found herself blessed to have someone in her life who knows her so well. Claudia knows all her failings and peculiarities, her disgusting habits and embarrassing hobbies and they always – or very nearly always – respect each others decisions, offer support without pandering or judging and if someone would ever ask her to put into words how much that has meant and still means to her, to put into words how utterly grateful she is, nothing she could say would suffice.

Right now, the old adage _A Blessing and a Curse_ rings very much true. She doesn’t know quite how to feel as she listens to Claudia skilfully dissect her heart. “Of course you’re not, because you either jump in head first or you take so much time to think something over you talk yourself out of everything. It’s one of your more charming, infuriating qualities, love. There’s never a middle road for you.”

“I haven’t talked myself out of it,” Alex defends half-heartedly.

“But you’re trying.”

“I’m not saying never, just not now.”

“Because you’re not ready. Why is that?”

If she is going on this date – and she wouldn’t put it past Claudia magically transport herself from London to Cardiff and manhandle her until she is – she’d better get a move on. She selects underwear on comfort rather than visual appeal. Her sex drive has been pretty much non-existent for months now and the one thing that would mess up her life even more at this point would be falling into bed with Matt Smith.

She busies herself dressing. It’s not like she doesn’t know the answer to the other woman’s question. She’s spent plenty of time thinking on it even before the notion of a date became an actual thing, but it’s something else to actually force the words past that lump in her throat.

The jeans are a little wide around her hips and she should probably be pleased about that, but right now it’s just another nuisance. A belt too then. With a sigh she trudges back to the closet. With most of her clothes in LA and another good chunk in London it’s a bit of a wonder there are three belts to choose from. God, when did she acquire so much stuff?

With no small amount of frustration she guides the blue leather through the loops of her jeans. Just when she thinks it might be safe to move on to another topic, Claudia softly repeats her question. “Why, Alex?”

Alex’s eyes fall shut of their own accord. She never could refuse when Claude used that gentle, caring tone on her, no matter the setting or subject. “It’s not him,” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth. A little too quickly and too high-pitched, but they both ignore that. “But it’s not like I have something to offer right now. My life’s a mess and every time I think things are getting better something happens and it all goes to hell again.”

She turns back to face the phone, looking at it expectantly while smoothing the tunic down over her hips and arse. _Got nothing to say now, do you Claude?_

But her dear friend was never one to back down quickly. “Like what?”

“Like spending twelve hours looking at fucking Regular Joe.” Shit, she hadn’t meant to share that. Why is it so impossible for her to keep secrets from that woman?

The concern transmits clearly across the airwaves. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Ignore that. Hair up or down?”

“Down. Everyone who’s ever met you has a fetish for your hair. Now, what did you mean?”

“Claudia.”

“Alexandra.”

Huffing she rakes her fingers through her nearly dry curls, glaring at herself in the vanity mirror as she pulls the strands apart roughly. The sharp, slightly painful tugs at her scalp are oddly comforting. “It was stupid. And it wasn’t _him_. Obviously. Dead men don’t fly BA.”

“You spent twelve hours in a plane with someone who looked like your attacker.”

Glad the shudder that passes through her isn’t be visible through the phone, Alex unscrews her mascara. Focussing on menial tasks helps with the memories, although no amount of makeup can banish them completely. She’s tried. Even now, just remembering how she felt on that plane makes her heart beat faster in her chest. “He didn’t really look like him. Different colour eyes, shorter, sharper face. Only the hair was similar really, but I couldn’t take my eyes of him for the entire flight, I could barely breathe. It was ridiculous, honestly.”

“God, no wonder you’ve been out of sorts.”

“It was stupid. The man is dead. I saw him die! And yet every time I let myself relax I see someone who reminds me of him and it’s like I’m in that basement all over again. I’m supposed to get better and I’m so tired of constantly watching my back. That’s why I’m not ready, okay? Matt is lovely and sweet and I’ll spend the entire time looking over my shoulder, jumping at every sudden noise and unexpected touch.” Her words echo in the silence and she flinches at the hint of frustrated panic that taints the air.

“I thought… It is like that all the time?”

“No.” She exhales. “No, there are days when I feel normal. Or at least there were in LA. But the slightest thing throws me off. It’s exhausting.”

“Oh love.”

“There are a lot of reasons why going out with Matt could be bad idea, Claude. The age-gap, our friendship, our jobs, Salome, my history, his future. But in the end he is an adult capable of making his own choices, it’s not like we work together every day and my history is what it is. And his future… well, that’s up to him, isn’t it? It’s not like I can prohibit him from making mistakes even if I could stop him from making this one.”

“You’re not a mistake.”

Clenching her jaw, she keeps a comeback to herself instead continuing her point. “Those things don’t matter as long as I can’t beat this.”

It’s odd, Alex reflects as she applies a thin layer of lip-gloss with a shaking hand, how voicing the thoughts that have been racing through her head makes her feel lighter. In London, Claudia scrapes her throat. “You’ve thought about this, clearly. But let me ask you this: do you trust him?”

“I don’t see—“

“Just answer me.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Then maybe you can trust him to watch your back for a while.”

Her breath hitches painfully in her throat. There’s nothing she can say to that.

Twenty minutes later when the doorbell rings, Alex still feels raw and off balance and nauseous. Claudia was right, she’s never been this nervous for a date before. In the few moments it takes her to reach the front door, she suddenly reconsiders her outfit. Should she have dressed up more? Made a bit more of an effort? Doesn’t he deserve at least that much?

_Too late now._

Taking a last deep breath, she unlocks the door and comes face to face with an equally nervous Matt, dressed in simple dark jeans, a dark sweater and a grey trench coat. Seeing the anxiety play on his features eases her own. He grins broadly and stumbles first over his feet and then his tongue. “Hi – hello – hey?”

It’s easier to steady herself when she sees him off balance and she smiles at him fondly, heart drumming. “Hello.”

“I – ah… you look wonderful.” He trusts the flowers at her. “I was going to bring you flowers – good ones. Not roses, cos me mum said – but it’s November so that didn’t work out as I’d planned. Anyway. Here.”

She’s still catching up to his rambling when he trusts a huge plastic sunflower in her face.

Matt smiles lopsidedly. “Consider it a promise.“

Alex tries to swallow down the lump that’s suddenly blocking her throat. Her cheeks flush and her chest suddenly feels tight. “T-Thank you, darling.”

He beams up at her and claps his hands together. “Well then Kingston, grab a warm coat, a scarf and some comfortable shoes and let’s get this show on the road, eh?”

His enthusiasm makes her laugh and the butterflies in her stomach ease a little. She turns back into the hall to do just that. “Where are you taking me then?”

With obvious mirth in his voice he gives her the predictable answer: “Spoilers dear!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Batman guys! This chapter marks two milestones; 100k and a proper date! 
> 
> I'm so sorry for the lack of proper replies to your wonderful comments. Life's a bit hectic at the mo'. I hope to get around to it sometime this week. If I don't; please know each and every comment and kudo is greatly appreciated. This story has gotten so out of control (I say again: 100k!) I would've given up ages ago hadn't it been for your encouragement. As long as people are enjoying this, I will keep going until Alex and Matt get their acts straight, tee hee
> 
> Hope you liked!


	59. Chapter 59

They don’t talk for a while. Matt appears to concentrate navigating the Cardiff roads and traffic, but Alex can tell he’s a bit unsure. His hands are gripping the wheel with too much force and he looks ahead rigidly. It makes the angles of his jaw and cheekbones even more prominent.

Just as at a loss for words as he is, she watches the scenery pass by through her window. What are they doing?

But then the look on his face when she opened the door and that hideous, but oh so thoughtful plastic sunflower are etched into her mind and it warms her chest and she decides that however this date goes, their friendship will only come out stronger. She finds herself smiling a little at her reflection.

“I half-expected you to cancel y’know.” He steals a glance at her, blushing a bit. “Hoped you wouldn’t, but…”

Her eyes meet his briefly before she stares at her hands. “I nearly did,” Alex admits softly.

“Why?”

“Why didn’t I, or why did I consider to?” She smirks at him in an attempt to mask her sudden panic. She can’t tell him what she told Claudia, not yet. And even if she could, she’s determined to enjoy this time with him without dredging up ghosts and demons.

“Either. Both?”

“Does it matter?”

He blinks at her, then smiles broadly. “Not as long as you don’t regret it.”

“So far, so good, darling.”

Visibly pleased wit himself, Matt relaxes into his seat. “Let’s hope I don’t muck it up then.”

Oh, she very much doubts it. The butterflies in her stomach take flight again, this time with a hint of panic in their fluttering wings. What if this turns out not just a good or fun date, but an excellent one? What is she supposed to do then?! It’ not like she can back out now. Fuck, why didn’t she cancel and spare them both the awkwardness that is sure to follow? She isn’t really ready for a date, let alone a relationship.

God, why is she even worried about that now? She’s getting way ahead of herself. Matt won’t push her for anything, she _knows_ that. Taking a deep breath, she focuses on the view and is surprised to find Matt has turned onto the M4.

“We’re leaving Cardiff?”

“Yup.”

Knowing that asking where he’s taking her is pointless, Alex bites her lower lip to quell the question. Her anxiety doesn’t make sense anyway. So they’re leaving town, so what? Sure, she’s never been overly fond of surprises and even less so since – well, since. But this is Matt, she trusts him.

Apparently Matt picks up on her anxiety, eyes sliding over her with a hint of worry. “I just want to take you somewhere different. Somewhere new.”

“Why?”

Is he blushing? “Because that’s what I hope this is. Something different. Something _new_.”

Now her own cheeks are heating up. Going on this date isn’t fair to him, is it? Matt is hoping for something she knows she’s not ready for and the last thing she wants is to lead him on. This might be the worst decision she’s made since getting into that unfamiliar cab seven months ago.

Twenty minutes later, she finds herself revisiting that notion. They’d spent the remainder of the drive in silence. Her mind hadn’t stopped racing until Matt had turn off the main road and followed a dark path to the edge of a small cliff overlooking a narrow beach. With both of them having put in only a half-day of shooting, the sun was only just starting to set as they got out of the car.

The grey sky and chilled air is far from romantic, but quintessentially British and she’s missed it. She pulls the scarf tighter around her neck and gazes out over the sea, deeply breathing in the salty scent of the ocean. It took her a pretty amount of time way back when to get used to the Californian sun and while she certainly appreciates the LA weather now, there’s always a certain nostalgia that overcomes her when she’s caught in a typical English shower.

There’s nothing spectacular about this sunset, but it thrills her just the same. She turns to Matt to thank him only to have her breath catch in her throat. He’s looking at her intensely from under his fringe, with a gentle smile playing around his lips and a glittering in his eyes that belies his feelings for her. God, no one has ever looked at her quite like that before. She shivers and bats at the curls flying into her face.

“Cold?”

“No.” Scraping her throat, she wills her voice back down to its normal level. “No, I’m fine. It’s nice actually. Very British.”

“Most people bemoan the British weather y’know.”

Alex turns back to watch the waves crash into the beach below them. “I’ve missed it,” she admits wistfully and nearly jumps when suddenly Matt sounds much, much closer.

“You mentioned.”

She’s caught for a moment between the implication of his words – that he chose this specifically because he knew she’d like the cold and the grim scenery and since when does he know her so well? – and his nearness. He’s not touching her, but she can feel the warmth of him right behind her. It would only take a small step backwards to press herself against him.

So far, this date is not at all what she expected.

“It’s not that LA doesn’t have bad weather, or days when the sky is a morose grey, but it doesn’t really get that sharp chill – when you want to curl up in front of the fireplace and listen to rain pelt the windows.” She trails off, eyes riveted on the waves. The land feels ancient beneath her feet, unpolished and raw. The wind blows her curls into her eyes and mouth and bites through the small gap between her sleeves and gloves.

Of all things she remembers filming Boudica in Romania, the horrid weather and dreadful scenery and always that awareness under her skin of how old the earth under her feet was and how many people must have stood where she’d been standing across history.

She steps back and lets Matt’s arms snake around her waist. The weight of his head on her shoulder is grounding and only a little bit constricting.

Together they watch the sky darken and stars blink into existence.

Another memory sparks in her mind – shooting the Weeping Angels episode years ago and Matt complaining (loudly and continuously, mind) how much he hated autumn and winter and cold in general. Her voice accusatory, she reminds him of this. “You hate the cold.”

He grins; she can hear it in his voice. “I’m not cold, Kingston.”

“We could’ve gone somewhere indoors. In fact, I figured you’d take me to some fancy, hip restaurant. Why this? Not because I miss the weather.” She regrets the choice to turn and face him almost immediately.

He’s so _close_ and looking at her solemnly as if he can see straight through her. “Part of it and yeah – I could’ve taken you to dinner. Will in the future I hope – but then people would stare and possibly ask for autographs and pictures and the waiters would interrupt at the most inappropriate times and we’d talk about work, and it wouldn’t feel like much of a date, would it? Here it’s just you and me – and I’ll admit it’s not fancy or terribly romantic, but it’s real if you know what I mean. It’s different and I thought you’d like it.” He cocks his head to the side a little, a small smile on his thin lips. “Was I wrong?”

Her answering smile falls a little short. She’d never expected him to put this much thought into this and she should have known better, shouldn’t she? Matt never does anything half-assed – always aspires to impress – always manages effortlessly to cut through all the smokescreens she instinctively throws up and find her heart. His execution might fail him every now and then, but never his intentions. “No,” she answers thickly, “you weren’t.”

He gently brushes her curls out of her face and leans in. For a moment she thinks he might kiss her – and panics accordingly, but then his lips press softly against her cheek and his warm breath ruffles her hair counterpoint to the cold wind.

When he pulls away, her cheek burns. “Right then! T’is about time for dinner, don’t you think?” Without waiting for her answer he twirls back to the car and pops the trunk. If she wasn’t so busy swooning, she might’ve laughed at the dramatic flair with which he pulls two pizza-boxes out of the trunk. She quickly rushes over to grab them from him while he reaches for a bottle of wine and two glasses, then fishes out a bottle of water as well. They put the food on top of the hood of the car which is still a little warm and she does laugh when he looks at her triumphantly. “Dinner is served, m’lady.”

The insides of the pizza-boxes turn out to be lined with aluminium foil, which has miraculously kept the food somewhat warm. The amount of thought he put into this whole date is staggering. From the plastic sunflower to the aluminium foil – all of it just for her. It’s a bit terrifying.

She finds herself eating more than she has in days – alternating between the tuna-pizza and sipping her wine. She tears up a little when he asks about Salome. Even with the distractions from work and Matt himself, her daughter is never far from her mind. This time the separation is proving to be even harder. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous about leaving her with Flo,” she admits guiltily. “I talk to her every day and she’s doing fine, but it’s hard. Really hard.”

There is no worse feeling in the world than leaving your child behind and not be absolutely sure she’s going to be safe. It’s probably a good thing she’s unable to put that black hole in her heart into words, or she’d be balking her eyes out.

She rubs at her temple to soothe the blooming ache there and takes another sip of wine. Immediately, Matt zeroes in on the small gesture like a hawk. “Headache?” He looks at her calmly with only a hint of worry – a far cry from the suffocating concern just a few days ago. His green eyes look so damn wise.

The warmth of his skin against her fingers startles her and she drops her eyes to where the pads of her fingers brush along his jaw. Her head throbs, her fingers prick. “Look at you. When did you grow up?”

The laugh lines around his eyes crinkle deeper. “Oi, I was a grown-up when you met me.”

Self-conscious, she drops her hand back to her side. “Not like this. You’re all… steady.”

“Sown all my wild oats.” He brushes his hair out of his face with the dramatic flair that suits him so well and winks saucily.

Despite the serious atmosphere between them, Alex snorts. “You really want to brag about all the oats you’ve sown right now?”

Matt flushes adorably. “Can we rewind to when you said I was grown-up?”

“Sorry, no take-backsies.” She primly arches one eyebrow at him and bites back a smile when he predictably gapes at her before laughing.

When he catches himself he looks at her with such intense wonder her breath stalls in her throat. Alex wraps her arms around herself, guarding herself against the wind and the demons rearing their ugly heads. Every time he looks at her like that, she feels so conflicted – torn between soaking up the affection in his eyes and the guilt eating away at her. How can she lead him on like this when her own feelings are such a muddled mess?

“Are you cold?”

She nods mutely, feeling even worse when he starts to pack the leftovers of their dinner.

There must be something in her expression that gives her away, because after having stuffed the boxes and dirty glasses into the trunk, Matt takes her hands and squeezes them gently. “You look terrified,” he whispers confidentially.

Alex blushes like a bloody teenager. Gathering her courage, she manages a wobbly smile. “I am. As first dates go, this has been rather perfect.”

Looking incredibly chuffed he tugs at his scarf much like the Doctor might fiddle with his bow tie. “Something worth repeating, yeah?” In the moonlight his eyes take on an almost otherworldly glimmer.

No one has ever made her feel so conflicted and if nothing else, she owes it to him to look out for him. And yet she can’t deny the hope that blooms in her chest whenever he looks at her like that. Or that from the moment he picked her up, she hasn’t looked over her shoulder once. And so, selfishly; “Yes.”

His answering smile is bright enough to cut through the dark British night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more I humbly thank you for your continued support! I hope you like this chapter. It's a bit longer than usual and rather fluffy as far as this fic goes, hehe, but it's an important step forward for Alex.
> 
> It's also going to be the last chapter for a bit. No worries, I'm only going on holiday - but after more than a year of (nearly) weekly updates, it feels a bit like failing. Anyways, I'll be back in a couple of weeks and shall resume regular updates by then.
> 
> Please don't hate me!


	60. Chapter 60

The next morning, Matt heads to set with an odd mixture of anxiety and elation in his stomach. Last night had been _amazing_. He’s committed to memory the brilliant smile that had lit up Alex’s face when he bid her goodnight with a chaste kiss on her cheek. She’d loved the sea and he’d been so ruddy proud of himself. To impress a woman like Alex Kingston is no small feat and he’d pulled it off.

It’d been a bit hard not to drop to his knees and pledge eternal loyalty to her. Watching her standing on the small cliff overlooking the beach and ocean there’d been something timeless about her, something powerful and ancient and beautiful beyond comprehension.

But more than that she’d admitted to apprehension and let him calm her. He could almost believe that from here on out they would only move forward.

Should they ever get to the point – and woah, definitely getting way, WAY ahead of himself here – but should they ever get to the point of marriage then he knows exactly where to commit his heart to hers. As the thought innocently flits through his mind, he startles a bit. He’s never really thought about marriage. It’s crossed his mind, sure. He’s wondered who and when because that’s what one does. There’d even been a point in his relationship with Daisy when she’d brought it up, only for him to realize that he hadn’t even thought about it as a real possibility. So for now he quickly distracts himself.

Still, it doesn’t keep him from floating on cloud nine for the rest of the evening.

However, the closer he gets to the studios, the more anxious he gets. What if Alex regrets it this morning? What if she takes another step back? Unsure how to handle himself, he forces himself to do what he always does; he picks up two cups of tea and heads to the hair and make-up trailer. By now Alex will have been in there for a good hour, even though it’s only 7 am.

Putting on his bravest face, he steps inside and belts out a cheery Good morning!

Katy, one hand buried in Alex’s curls, jumps, her free hand flying to her heart. “Goodness Matt, you gave me a right fright!”

He smiles apologetically at her. The brunette is one of those people who was born much too late. Only in her early twenties, Katy dresses like she’s living in the 50s and she talks like a proper lady from around the turn of last century. It’s bloody adorable. “Tea?”

She shakes her head as expected – she never does take tea from him. “No, but thank you kindly.”

It’s only then that he allows his eyes to finally slide over to Alex, half afraid of finding her tense and distant. She smiles warmly and accepts her tea with a grateful murmur. Her hair is half-done, the remaining curls held back by a garishly pink clip and the makeup department has yet to work it’s magic on her. She looks breathtaking nonetheless.

Matt is quite fond of the tiny lines around her eyes and mouth if he’s honest, the way they crinkle when she laughs and crease when she’s worried and how she can go from looking like a careless young woman to a wise matriarch with little effort. She has a face for the stage, her strong features easily able to carry expressions and emotions to the very back of the theatre, egged on and amplified by her eyes and voice.

He blinks when she waves a hand in front of his face, pulled roughly out of his musings. “Matt?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Did you sleep all right, darling?”

If possible, his blush burns brighter on his cheeks as his dream from last night pops vividly into his mind. With Alex looking up innocently at him, it’s a losing battle. His eyes drop to her mouth and he swallows hard. “Fine. Excellent really. You?”

She gives him a slow smile that helps nothing against the developing _situation_ in his pants. “I had a good night too, thank you.”

He catches her eyes then, trying to decipher if she’s maybe talking about more than sleeping. The way her blue eyes twinkle fondly suggests that yes, yes she is. He takes a sip from his tea, unsure how to respond.

And that’s how he finds himself frantically running around his London apartment just a few days later. Part of him is still waiting for her to bolt and he’s seriously prepared himself for being stood up. He’s spent so much time in denial and after that telling himself that it was too soon, that she wasn’t ready, that he can scarcely believe they’re actually about to embark on an official second date.

Even at work Alex has been utterly normal – flirty and cheeky and so bloody brilliant. He’s always admired the passion she has for her work and her devotion to the characters she plays. And watching her gently coach Jenna was something else. She used to do that for him as well – back when he first stepped into the Tardis and had his life turned on its head.

Watching her with Jenna now reminds him how far he’s come.

After finding out she’d be returning to London for the weekend too, asking her on another date seemed to be the natural thing to do. He’s picked up lasagne and wine from one of his favourite restaurants and it’s in the oven to keep warm while he rushes around his place to make sure it is spotless.

When the clock strikes seven his stomach summersaults in his belly. Five minutes later there’s no sign of Alex, but she’s probably just running late. Five more minutes pass and he keeps checking his phone even though he’d hear a text coming in or a phone call even over the loud beating of his heart.

He’s never known Alex to be more than a minute or two late. Maybe she’s decided to stay in Surrey with her parents. But then she would have let him know right?

After twenty minutes his heart starts to sink.

Surely she’s not standing him up. Alex has more class than that.

He’s turned off the oven a bit ago as to not ruin the lasagne and with everything in order, Matt can’t do anything but pace around his sitting room – mind bouncing back and forth between _she’s standing me up_ and _something happened, something’s wrong_. His mind all too readily provides scenarios. She drove up from Cardiff after him, maybe she got into an accident? She could’ve had another sudden headache, lost her focus for just a minute and swerved into the wrong lane.

His phone mocks him, burning a whole in the back pocket of his jeans. He should just call her. After fifty minutes and change that’s exactly what he does. Heart beating a nervous tattoo, he listens to her phone ring and ring and ring before it goes to voicemail.

It doesn’t mean anything. She could still be lying in a ditch somewhere, trapped in a car wreck. She could be at home, perfectly safe and ignoring his call.

_Bugger. Shit. Fuck_.

And he wants to laugh at himself, because when has the prospect of being stood up ever affected him like this?

The answer is of course; never. His ego has been bruised in the past, yes, but never his heart.

His heart, which promptly stops beating all together when the doorbell rings.

It’s not until the second ring that he remembers to breathe and rushes over to the intercom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, guys! So sorry for the long wait. There's loads of reasons, but mostly it's down to the rather spontaneous decisions to #1 buy an apartment and #2 renovate it. Which resulted in no internet, no time and a lot of sore muscles. On top of that I switched jobs, so yeah - I'm afraid writing and posted suffered. I'm still up to my elbows in paint, but things have calmed down some, so I'm hoping to resume a somewhat regular posting schedule once more.  
> I've received some really lovely messages and kind reviews over the last couple of weeks and I see there's been a slew of undoubtedly brilliant fics - please be patient with me, it'll take some time to catch up and I hope you've enjoyed this easy going chapter to get back into the story. See you soon!


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit of sort-of fluff in a week that desperately needs it...

During his trek from the living room to the door, Matt wonders if he’d be this _afraid_ if Daniel Chance had never entered Alex’s life. He’s not typically someone who assumes the worst – though his heart does tend to skip a beat when his mum calls at odd hours. Right now his mind is racing with bad scenario’s, even though he logically knows it’s unlikely the police would come to him if something did happen to Alex.

Steeling himself, he unlocks his front door and swings it open.

Alex is standing on his doorstep. She’s bundled in a heavy winter coat, curls more or less hidden by a woollen cap and a multi-coloured umbrella held just above her head. “Hi.”

Matt lets out a sigh of relief while simultaneously berating himself for being so paranoid. “Hi!” Then, because he can’t help himself; “you’re here.”

Alex cocks her head and with her curls more of less trapped by that cap, it’s much less effective than it usually is. “Of course I am.” Her eyes narrow. “Did you think I stood you up? I’m only a few minutes late.”

“A few minutes? I thought we said seven.”

“Eight, darling.”

“Oh.” Feeling like a right dork, Matt is immeasurably glad for the cold air blasting in his face. If nothing else hopefully it’ll keep Alex from noticing his blush.

She studies him with narrowed eyes, reading him in that effortless way of hers that never fails – except when it comes to his feelings for her. “Did you think I stood you up?”

“Of course not.” But the denial comes a little too rushed and high pitched.

Alex notices and purses her lips against a smile. “I’d never, darling.”

He ducks his head. He’s not entirely sure that Alex isn’t doing this mostly to humour him. Even if she is, he has to admit he doesn’t honestly think she’ll stand him up. “Make yourself at home, I’ll reheat dinner.”

He all but high-tails into the kitchen and only once there realises he probably should have offered to take her coat and such. Yes, date #2 is off to a sterling start.

While switching on the oven, he mentally berates himself. Then takes a deep breath. _Okay. Focus. Regroup._

“Can I get you something to drink? Wine, water, tea? Red or white – the wine, I mean. I have Earl Grey, Darjeeling and good old English blend for tea. Oh, and coffee, but I don’t think you drink that? I have some soda too.”

He’s in the middle of silently cursing his mouth for rambling on without permission from his brain, when Alex’s soft laugh makes him jump. He nearly sprains his neck swivelling to look at her – then promptly drops his jaw at the sight of her leaning against his kitchen door.

She’s dressed casually in that slightly awkward style of hers; simply jeans and a elaborate blouse. But holy fuck. Those jeans are bloody painted onto her and then there’s the deep v of the blouse (three buttons undone!) and worse of all – a necklace, pink and horribly mismatched against the greenish blouse, with a pendant that rests perfectly between her breasts. The only thing he is able to think of is his mouth, right there. _Please_.

Matt swallows. Hard.

And runs his tongue along dry lips to wet them and – honestly – he’s a bit surprised to find he’s not actually salivating.

He blinks, pulls himself together somewhat and manages to meet her eyes. “Nice necklace.”

Her hand comes up to touch the pendant in a move that is both uncharacteristically self-conscious and _distracting_. “Thanks.”

Fighting against the urge to adjust himself, Matt scrapes his throat. “So, ah, what would you like to drink?”

“Just water would be fine, thank you.”

He nearly drop the glass, and then splashes water on himself when he opens the faucet just a tad too enthusiastically.

“Matt? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I just… can’t believe you’re here, I guess.”

They both freeze at his raw honesty. He tries desperately to think of something to say to soften the shock in Alex’s wide blue eyes, but comes up empty.

Alex takes a sharp breath – shattering the silence between them. “Have I been sending such mixed signals?”

“In a way,” It’s a bit incongruous, he thinks absentmindedly, this sudden nakedness. “Mostly, you haven’t been sending signals at all – and it’s okay,” he hastens to add, “I know you’ve been going through a dif---“

Compared to freezing a few moments ago, this is an entirely different experience. His mind appears to be on some sort of time-delay. He watches Alex move towards him almost in slow-motion after the warmth of her body is already pressed against him – feels her fingers sear the back of his neck, her eyes close enough he can make out the individual specks of green and blue and gold – and then everything stills, or has already stilled. He doesn't trust any of his senses right now.

He doesn’t even feel the chaste press of her lips against his, or the way he’s awkwardly bend down even though he knows both those things are true. Alex is kissing him and for some reason that thought – that truth – is predominant over the actual kissing.

Until, of course, she pulls back and cool air brushes his lips. He nearly loses his balances trying to maintain the feather light touch.

When his eyes focus again and his brain catches up somewhat, he sees her looking at him with a teasing little smirk. “How’s that for a signal?”

Matt gapes at her sass, unable to react as Alex primly fishes the forgotten glass of water out of his right hand and ducks into the living room. Between the shock and exhilaration of the kiss and his buoyant heart – because God, there have been moments over the past months that she’s acted and sounded and looked like her old self, but none had been quite so utterly her as that gentle, teasing smugness just then.

Oh he has _missed_ her.

It takes a bit of time before he manages full control over his limbs and when he does, he rushes after her, in an entirely cool way of course. “Alex?”

She turns to look at him, one hand dragging absentmindedly though her curls. “I like you,” she states simply.

“I, uhh, like you too.” He might just die of a heart attack if she keeps making it jump around in his chest like this.

“And it’s the wrong time and you – Matt, I can’t make you any promises.”

“I know.” He barely dares to breathe. This feels important. So, _so_ important and he doesn’t want to do anything to interrupt or disturb her thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about – this – and I keep coming back to two things; I’m not ready and I don’t want to lead you on. And yet…”

Heart in his throat, he watches her struggle with her words until he can’t take it anymore. “And yet…?”

Alex looks at him guiltily, but he’s pretty sure there’s also hope in her eyes. “I’m selfish. I do like you and I like this, I like how you make me feel. And I know I should stop this before either of us gets hurt, but I don’t want to.” She lifts her eyes back to his, her expression frank and only slightly hesitant. His heart soars.

There’s roughly a dozen answers running through his head – ranging from ‘I get it’ to a detailed explanation of why he can live with that – but he’s smart enough to realize that this is a another step forward for her, for _them_ and for once he manages to control his tongue.

He’s pretty sure she’ll be able to read off his face what this means to him and so he opens his arms for her, shaking only a little bit when she steps into them and hugs him tightly in return. She’s all kinds of soft and warm and solid.

Verbally, he settles for the simple truth and he hugs her that much closer, nose pressed into her curls he breathes her in. “Good enough for me, Kingston.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you know how sometimes you think you can reasonably predict how your day/week will go and think you'll have time to write and respond to all the wonderful comments and warm 'welcome back's, but then some mad ass people feel it's necessary to shoot a plane out of the sky and somehow ignore the basic decencies of being human? Yeah, not a fun time to be a visual journalist. 
> 
> As it stands I'm so very grateful for all your lovely comments. I honestly didn't think anyone would still care. I hope you enjoyed this update and that maybe it offered a smidgen of light in an otherwise dark week. Hopefully by next weekend I won't be quite so knackered and I'll be able to reply to you individually as you deserve


	62. Chapter 62

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I keep saying this, but so sorry for the delay. At least it's only two weeks this time instead of two months? I won't be able to adhere to weekly updates for the next month or two, but I'll try my hardest to update thrice a month from here on out :)
> 
> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and incredible patience!

Matt convinces Alex to have lunch with him on Sunday before they each drive back to Cardiff. He regrets it a little, but only because he has a bit of a hangover and the low winter sun shines brightly into his eyes. After watching him squirm and squint his eyes for a few minutes, Alex fishes an oversized pair of sunglasses out of her bag and slides them over to his end of the table.

He’s pretty sure they look ridiculous on him – an impression confirmed by his date (his date!) fighting hard against a smile. Totally worth it. Not in the least because he can now stop fighting his eyes’ downward track. The v-neck shirt Alex is wearing provides a rather spectacular view. “Good party then?”

He hums and takes another sip of his perfectly brewed coffee. “Yeah, it was a lot of fun. Mike had a list of local drinks to help Hannah and Jay adjust to the home country. Of course they were out like a light after an hour or so, so we had to take it upon ourselves not to let Mike’s research go to waste.”

“Considering they just flew in from Argentina, I’m sure you lot understood.”

“We sure did,” Matt grins at her, “once we drew moustaches on their faces – and other, ahem, things.”

Alex barks out a sharp, surprised laugh that sends her ponytail swishing across her back. “That’s awful!”

“They had it coming.”

“You hadn’t seen them for what? Nearly a year, and this is how you treat two close friends upon their return?” She gives him a sly look over her tea, “I’ll have to keep a close eye on you, Mr. Smith.”

His grin stretches into a wide smile. “Please do.” He attempts hold her eyes for a long moment, just to make sure she knows he isn’t just joking, but it’s less effective than he would like considering the tinted glasses on his face. Giving up on eye-contact for the moment, he pulls out his phone and lets her read Hannah’s what’s app message from earlier that morning.

Alex does an admirable job of keeping in her laughter until she reaches the end – where Hannah realizes with sudden horror why the cabbie had been looking at her and her fiancé so oddly.

When she hands his phone back to him, she does so with a murmur of “truly awful”. She probably meant it to sound berating, but she sounds amused more than anything.

Rather pleased with himself, Matt settles back in his chair. “How was your day?” He watches her closely as she mulls over what to say. He knows Alex spent a good part of her Saturday in Surrey with her parents and sister. He knows too that Susie hasn’t been doing very well lately, though Alex hasn’t spoken much about it.

Sure enough, her good mood vaporizes. For a moment worry overtakes her features; brows drawn together, eyes downcast and the corners of her mouth dropping down. “It was okay, mostly. My parents are doing well. Susie’s health is declining steadily, but she doesn’t seem to be in any discomfort.”

“That’s something.”

Alex flashes him a wan smile. “It is.”

At a loss for words, he ducks into his coffee. “She’s won’t get better?” He asks when he’s scrounged up the courage.

With a small shake of her head she turns her gaze to a point over his shoulder. “Unlikely, but she’s surprised her Doctors before.” He knows there’s more; she gives herself away by worrying at her bottom lip. Sometimes it amazes him that she wears her emotions so openly even though she’s perfectly capable of masking them. Mostly he finds it incredibly brave.

He busies himself for a minute breaking off half a scone and then asks the other question on his mind. “How did your ‘meeting’ go?”

A slow smile curls around Alex’s lips. “It went rather well, I think.” She knows perfectly well he’s fishing and he doesn’t mind. He _is_ fishing. All he knows is that she had a meeting yesterday about some kind of project. She wouldn’t tell him what kind of project, or who with and wouldn’t even confirm whether or not it was an audition.

“You’re still not going to give me any details, are you?”

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’ and looks rather smug at his obvious curiosity. He might be distracted for a second – or two, or ten – by the way her lips curls around the consonant. How is it that someone who appears to have no filter during regular conversation – or indeed interviews – can keep a secret so bloody well?

“Will you at least tell me if it’s an audition?” Her steady, slightly amused gaze doesn’t waver. “Directing? Cashier at Tesco’s? Teaching?”

Alex looks at him archly. “Those who can’t do, teach?”

“No, no, not at all! That’s not… guh, you’re so mean.” He laughs to cover up the moment of insecurity even as he chastises her and scrubs at the back of his neck. “But seriously, give me something? TV-series, theatre, movie?”

At _theatre_ , her face blanches and he thinks maybe he’s onto something until he realizes she’s not looking at him at all anymore. Her gaze is fixed on the large window to his side, but he can detect nothing out of the ordinary in her line of sight. The small lunchroom they’re in is mostly empty and outside people are strolling along the shop fronts. A group of boisterous students, two families with small children. A mother with two teenage daughters, a husband or boyfriend trailing behind, nose in his phone.

Pulling off the sunglasses, he turns his attention back to Alex and finds her white as a sheet, her eyes unfocused. Worry beats an urgent tattoo in his chest. “Alex?”

She doesn’t even blink.

“Alex!”

“Sorry, what?” Her laughter is thin and fake – meant only to assure him and it fails miserably. “Must’ve zoned out for a bit, sorry darling.”

“You okay?”

“Yes.” As she answers, her attention switches back to the street outside.

His heart lurches when he recognizes the look in her eyes as they scan the outside world; she’s doing a security sweep. She’s been doing so intermittently since her capture months ago, usually after something startles her. He used to catch her surveying her surroundings as if she belonged to MI6 often, especially when out in public, but she’d been doing a lot better. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

Unsure of her reaction should he push her, Matt decides to let it go and focuses on his coffee while keeping an eye on his companion ( _Date!_ ). An unwelcome emotion simmers in his belly. It has no business there and he quickly pushes it away before he can examine and name it.

After a long minute, Alex finally looks at him. Her fingers restlessly curl around the paper napkin next to her plate and her shoulders are slumped. Some colour has returned to her cheeks but she looks as if she just came off an eighteen-hour shoot. “Nothing. I just thought I saw… _him_ and obviously I didn’t, I _know_ that, but I just…”

Without allowing himself to think about it, he reaches for her hands and folds them into his own. Her fingers are cold and the huge, garish ring she’s wearing bites into his skin. There’s nothing he can say that’ll help and so he squeezes and watches closely for any discomfort on her part. Sudden touches still tend to startle her.

This time she squeezes back and takes a shuddering breath.

“Does it happen often?” The question comes out more hushed that he intended and for a while he’s not sure she heard him, but then she meets his eyes, her mouth a sad facsimile of a smile.

“Often enough to make it hard to forget.”

He lets go when she pulls her hands back. For a moment his own hands – bereft of her touch – feel like alien appendages, as if they’re not really connected to him but to her instead. Matt flexes his fingers and scratches at his cheek. It helps.

He’s about to steer the conversation back to Alex’s mystery project, when he sees her tense.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you.” A woman pops up next to them. She’s a bit older than him, Matt thinks, with short blonde hair and large glasses and her whole body betrays her excitement, from the way her hands flail restlessly through the air to how she can’t seem to keep her feet still. “My two daughters are huge fans of you both and they’ll be terribly upset to have missed this! Would you mind terribly to sign something for them? I’ll understand if you don’t, but it would mean the world to them, honestly!”

“Of course we’d love to,” Alex answers quickly.

“Oh excellent! I have just the thing!” The mother produces a huge handbag from somewhere and dives into it.

Matt takes the opportunity to look over at Alex and see if she’s all right. There’s a lovely, patient smile plastered onto her face as the woman mutters apologies and promises of swiftness. He starts to wonder if perhaps the bag is bigger on the inside, seeing how long it takes for her to find whatever it is she’s looking for.

She does eventually fish out a kid’s drawing of the Tardis and proudly presents it. Alex makes polite conversation with her about her daughters while Matt scribbles something on the back of the painting. They switch roles when he’s done.

When she’s done signing, Alex talks to the woman some more. He’d pay attention – really, he would, he loves the fans – but he can’t quite draw his eyes away from Alex’s neck. With her curls pulled up into a ponytail, the column of her neck lays beautifully exposed. His eyes track the muscles flexing below the skin. He swallows as he pictures himself kissing her there, running his tongue along her jugular and nipping at the sensitive skin.

And he realizes with a start that he hasn’t seen her with her hair up for a long time – let alone in public. He tries to fight it, but memories pop to the forefront of his thoughts. Memories of that same skin marked by dark, angry bruises and what had caused them. He closes his eyes to chase them off, but that only makes things worse. Suddenly he’s back in that hospital room and Alex is looking at him with one eye, half of her face discoloured and swollen – near death.

He nearly chokes on his own breath.

It’s her voice calling his name that snaps him out of it. The first thing he notices is that the woman is gone, the second thing breaks his heart. Alex has one hand placed protectively against her neck, right where he’d been staring. _Fuck_. She’s put on a brave face too. “Are you all right, darling?”

“Yes.” He scrapes his throat. “Yes, fine. Just thinking about that mystery project of yours. Is it a burlesque show by any chance? Please say yes!” He waggles his eyebrows salaciously, completely over the top in a desperate attempt to chase off their demons.

She allows him to get away with the obvious lie. Not quite smiling, but rolling her eyes and allowing her hand to drop back down. “Don’t you wish.”

Matt smirks at her and breathes a little easier. “Like the Doctor wishes for fezzes, Kingston.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this thing, I intended to stick quite close to shooting schedules and the order and time path of things irl. I've come to realise that there's no way that's going to work, so I'm going to manipulate the timeline a bit - seems fitting for a Doctor Who-relating fanfic, no? Give me a shout if things get confusing. So get ready for things to get moving! Hope you'll enjoy the (remainder of) the ride :)


	63. Chapter 63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry!
> 
> Here, have a longish chapter as a peace offering...

“You haven’t _kissed_ her?!”

Matt kicks his feet up over the armrest of his couch and lets his head fall back against the opposite armrest. “I’ve kissed her! Just not lately,” he defends himself weakly.

Half across the world, his sister sighs dramatically. “You mean not since you started dating her.”

Perhaps he would have been better off talking to Karen about this.

“So what’s holding you back, baby bro? She kissed you, didn’t she?”

He physically cringes at the endearment and it takes proper effort not to beg her to stop using it. That will only empower her. “I dunno, Lor. I just want it to be right and it never seems to be.”

“That’s because you’re trying to plan it. That never works, especially not with someone like Alex – ‘cause honestly, there never is a moment when someone doesn’t want to snog her. I mean, come on, she’s Alex Kingston.”

She’s probably right too. He knows most of the Who crew and cast have at one time or another confessed to wanting to snog Kingston, some of them even to her face, and he is pretty sure that holds true for the world population at large.

“Hell,” Laura continues around a mouthful of something crunchy, “that’s the only downside of you and her – now I won’t be able to snog her.”

“You’re married.” He gives his head a good shake to dislodge the awkward image that just popped up.

“I’m sure James wouldn’t mind, especially not if he gets to watch. Or have a go himself.”

Matt blinks hard against _that_ image and groans into his can of beer. “Can we please stop talking about other people kissing Alex?”

“Why? You’re certainly not stepping up to the plate.”

He makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat. She’s not wrong though, so what can he say?

He and Alex have been on a handful of dates now, all low-key and wonderfully normal. Spending time with her is easy, even with all the pitfalls of their current situations. He still hasn’t found the courage to talk to Steven, Susie is doing poorly and then there is the matter of Alex’s kidnapping that hangs between them. But they’ve talked a lot, about those things yes, but mostly about other, normal, things. Childhood stories, favourite foods, odd habits and even current affairs though neither of them are quite up-to-date on those. It’s been more than wonderful, truly, but it feels like he’s on a countdown, like they’re going to slip back into friend-territory if he doesn’t make a move soon.

And he wants to. God, it’s all he can think about when he’s not with her and even when he is, his thoughts tend to slip. But when push comes to shove he lets opportunity after opportunity slip him by. He wishes her goodnight with a kiss on her cheek, puts his hands in the small of her back or on her elbow, rather than on her hip or knee.

“I’m worried it’s too soon for her.”

Laura outright laughs at him for that. “My God, Matt, she’s a grown woman. Not some meek little thing you have to protect against herself.”

It’s uncomfortably close to what Alex herself has said. “I’m just trying to be a decent bloke here, sis.”

“No Matty, you’re trying to be a hero and it’s adorable really and so very sweet, but you need to stop trying so hard.”

At a loss for words, he tosses the last mouthful of beer into his mouth and even then the only thing he can come up with is a sulky “’m not a hero”.

“And you don’t have to be, so stop trying to be perfect and don’t over think everything. Matt, she’s a woman, you like her, she likes you. She kissed you, for God’s sake. It’s really not that complicated.”

“It’s not that simple, Lor. She’s still not herself.”

There’s a long silence in New York – the kind spend deciding between being supportive or throttling someone, Matt can feel it. When his sister finally speaks again, it’s with a long-suffering kind of sympathy in her voice. “You mean she’s different than, well, _before_.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a barely audible mutter than sounds suspiciously like _men_. “Of course she is. Things like that change someone, Matt. They stay with you and you might deal with them, get over them even, but things will never be like they were before. So if you’re waiting for Alex to go back to being her old self, you’ll be waiting for a long time, dear brother. Now, be a good boy and kiss her, because honestly I don’t know how much more of you pining after her I can take.”

He shoots up, nearly tossing the empty beer can on the floor. He works to make himself sound upset when he is in fact extremely grateful for the light-hearted opening she’s left him. “That’s just hypocritical. What about all the times I had to listen to you moon over James? When you met him, when you started dating, when you moved in, when he proposed, when you got married – you owe me ages and ages of listening to me talk about Alex, dear sister.” God, he wishes she was right here with him so he could enjoy the look of mock-outrage undoubtedly crossing her face right about now.

She doesn’t disappoint. “I was seventeen!”

“Yeah, well, you’re not seventeen now, aren’t you?”

“I’m not mooning over him now.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.” She sounds so ruddy happy when she says it and he is truly happy for her. Him and Laura might have had periods of hair pulling, fighting and all around bitchiness, but on the whole they’ve always gotten along well. If not for her, he wouldn’t have gotten into acting, wouldn’t have even auditioned for Moffat and as a consequence probably would never have met Alex. And so he is extremely grateful that his sister is so utterly happy with her life at the moment. But at the same time, an embarrassing sliver of jealousy winds its way through his chest.

He quickly pushes it down and directs the conversation to his sister’s life. They’ve talked enough about Alex and he’s left with some uncomfortable insights.

The next day he takes Alex out on a proper date. Of sorts. They’re in an actual restaurant, with actual other people and sans co-workers as far as he can tell. In London this would be paparazzi-fodder, but they’re in Cardiff and the people around here are used to seeing BBC-employees dine together in various formations, so he very much doubts this outing will make headlines.

It’s a good thing, because while he would have happily shouted his feelings for her off the rooftops just a day ago, Matt’s head and heart have been twisted in a nauseating knot of insecurity since he spoke to his sister.

Having Alex sitting opposite of him, looking heavenly bohemian, only makes it worse. He loves this woman, he’s sure of it, but he’s come to wonder if perhaps he loves an ideal, incomplete version of her.

Now is not the time for doubts, he admonishes himself sternly. Alex will be returning to London tonight and he’ll stay behind. He won’t see her for three weeks.

He’s quite sure Alex has noticed something off about him, but for the moment she’s happily talking about her new project. Whatever it is – she’s still tight-lipped about any details – it’s doing her a world of good. He hasn’t seen her this energized in ages and it’s rather entrancing, no matter what treacherous thoughts he may or may not be having.

She’s doing that thing where she’s talking with her hands, the wild and enthusiastic gestures more telling than the words coming out of her mouth. “It’s a proper project, you know? Start to finish, and we click on the interpretation – I didn’t really expect that.” Her enthusiasm gives way to an adorable bout of self-consciousness. She drags her fingers through her loose curls and his own itch with the desire to do the same. Matt settles instead for polishing off his entrecote. “It’s not that it’s anything radical, but people usually do this a certain way and I’ve always felt… well, different about it.”

“You realize this is not making a whole lot of sense, right?”

Alex’s hands freeze midair as she glares at him.

With a lopsided grin, he holds his hands up to ward of her mock-anger. “I’m just sayin’; it’d be nice to know what you’re talking about.”

She worries at her bottom lip and admits almost shyly, “I’m not going to jinx it. I _really_ want this, Matt.”

The lump that suddenly forms in his throat hurts when he swallows it down. Fuck, she looks at him with those bewitching, vulnerable blue-and-green eyes and it astounds him once again that the world at large hasn’t succumbed to her charms. “You deserve it.”

She deserves everything.

“Anyway, enough about me. What are you up to, darling?”

He gives her a look to let her know he’s perfectly aware of what she’s doing, but is willing to let her get away with it. “Not much. I can’t put out too many feelers before I’ve talked to Steven. It’s scary, y’know? Like I’ll be stepping into this huge, black hole.”

“You could, of course, talk to Steven,” Alex reminds him dryly.

“I know, I know. And I will, soon. How do I know what parts to take though? I mean, I’ve been in a pretty luxury position so far, but what if I make the wrong choices and everything comes tumbling down?”

“Choose the parts you want to do and bugger what everyone else thinks.”

He nearly chokes on his beer.

She smiles indulgently while deliberately placing her knife and fork across her plate. She hasn’t eaten everything, he notes, but most of the food is gone. “When I took Moll, there were quite a few people who thought it would be the end of my career – or at least the last step before all out pornography. But I wanted the part – needed it, in a way. I thought I could bring something to her… a humanity, I suppose. Something relatable, redeeming.”

Matt shifts in his chair. Alex is always a study in contrasts; dirty and innocent, naughty and shy, polished and raw. He can read her well enough by now to realize that she is exposing something intimate to him, brave and a little embarrassed because she always is when admitting to her own ambitions, even those long met and surpassed. He can never quite figure out if it she’s shy, humble or oblivious. Perhaps a bit of all three.

Caught up in her, he barely notices the waiter take away their plates and offer desert. Alex declines, but orders another drink for the both of them. When they’re left alone again, he resists the near overwhelming urge to lean over the small table and kiss her the way he’s dreamt off, but continues their conversation. “So how do you choose which role to take?”

“Basically, a good part is like a good shag.” This time he nearly spits out his bear. With a naughty smirk that quickly gives way to an inspired seriousness, Alex explains herself. “Exhilarating, terrifying and it teaches you something about yourself, brings to the surface a part of you that maybe you hadn’t really connected with before or a part you’ve tried to bury and ignore. As much as I like to escape into a character, a good one will always confront you with yourself. Give and take, darling.”

Her voice tells of awkward truths and hard-fought triumphs and once again he wants to kiss her so badly he can’t breathe – and once against he _can’t_ and the moment passes.

“If it’s a part that will challenge you, one you can lose yourself in and still be proud off when the production itself turns out to be a dud, torn to pieces by critics and colleagues – then you should probably go for it.”

“Are there parts you regret taking?”

For a brief moment her face is carefully blank, then she wrinkles her nose and laughs. “Not one.”

Curiosity piqued, he leans in a little closer, eyes dropping briefly to her mouth. “Really?”

Alex giggles and wags her index finger in front of his face. “Really. Regrets are dangerous; they keep you with one foot in the past. I’d rather spend my energy on the present. If I think I’ll regret taking a certain role, I’ll either not take it – or take it and forbid myself to regret it.” She shrugs her shoulders and laughs, at herself presumably, “works well for me.”

She launches into a story about an unnamed actor she worked with once. Matt does his best to follow along, but can’t quite muster up the interest. Something about poisoning the set with negativity because he didn’t like the part. He nods and hums in the pauses of her speech, eyes fastened on the micro expressions that dance across her features.

This is the woman he fell in love with; animated, passionate and warm and adorably self-conscious every time she realizes people are genuinely interested in what she has to say. She is all those things now, but the experience with Daniel Chance has left more than physical scars and he doesn’t know how to fix her. How to deal with the skittish look in her eyes, or the way she gets lost in her own head and shuts everyone out.

What if Laura is right and there is no fixing her? Will he love those parts of her too? Because so far they scare him more than anything.

“You all right, darling?”

He brings his attention back to her when she reaches across the table and takes his hand in one of hers. His fingers tingle and his heart flutters madly but at the same time his stomach churns and a headache is slowly blooming at his temples. “Yes, sorry. Just… three weeks eh?”

Suddenly she refuses to meet his eyes and trips over her words, she never does that. “Actually, I thought, maybe…” Matt sits up a little straighter, heart thudding in his chest. What is she trying to say? He’s about to ask her when Alex lets out a short, nervous giggle. “Ah. I’m hosting a dinner for a couple of friends late November, I thought maybe you’d like to come?”

For a second he can only stare at her, speechless. “Really?”

“Really. It’s nothing fancy – everyone makes a dish and we drink a lot. That’s pretty much it.” Out of habit he runs his right hand through his hand and scrubs at the back of his neck. When he does so, Alex straightens. “You’ll probably be exhausted by then, please don’t feel obliged to –“

“No, I’d love to come,” he cuts her off hastily although he can’t quite keep the disbelief out of his voice. “Really.”

Her answering smile is a bit unsteady and he could kick himself for making her waver. “Good, good. November 24th then.”

“Brilliant.”

He won’t have to cook, Alex assures him on the way back to their little BBC-provided apartments and Matt pretends to be offended. He tries his damnest to stop analyzing everything, but ever since Laura’s well-meant advice, he just can’t. And so he struggles along, caught between wanting to jump around like an excited four-year-old because she just asked him to _meet her friends_ , and bursting out in tears because part of him wonders if this is a token invitation on her part.

Perhaps she feels obligated to invite him because they’ve been spending a lot of time together, or because she feels she owes him. Sure, she said she liked him just a couple of days ago, kissed him even. But she also said she wasn’t quite ready and he hasn’t yet found the courage to try and move things forward. What if she is inviting him as a friend and nothing more?

He tries to focus on Alex – not exactly a difficult thing to accomplish usually. The wind is toying with her curls, liberating more and more of them from the ponytail she’s wearing. They settle around her face when the two of them slip into the building, trekking through the lobby and narrow halls. Even in the near-dark, her eyes are lit up by old memories as she shares anecdotes from previous dinners, her voice high and excited and her gestures carefree.

It’s quite possible he’ll split in two any moment now. Off set against the dread churning his stomach, there is warmth in his heart because he does _love_ her, especially when she’s telling naughty, embarrassing stories that offer yet another glimpse into a past he knows so little off.

“—and Claudia can’t cook or bake to save her life, but she tries every year. Bless. Which of course means we have to taste it every year. She makes a mean cocktail though, so we allow her to come back.”

She turns her key in it’s lock and the door to her apartment swings open. Alex fluidly turns on her heels and leans against the doorpost. He is arrested by the joy on her face – by how utterly at ease she is in his presence. His brain tries to issue a warning, but he ignores it, doesn’t let himself think and while his heart thuds loudly in his chest, he leans into her and presses his mouth against hers.

There is an awful moment – a second that horrifies him, that screams he should have thought before acting after all – during which she freezes and his heart drops to his feet and his blood runs cold in his veins. But then she exhales through her nose and relaxes. She parts her lips and lets him in with a quiet sigh.

The taste of her, the feel of her so close and so warm are his whole world and his place in it is crystal clear. All his worries, fears and doubt fade into blissful oblivion as his mouth slides against hers. Her tongue meets his with increasing demand and fuck, she kisses him as if she _owns_ him, without reservation. Well, two can play that game – he traces the roof of her mouth, those perfect rows of teeth and chases the taste of her relentlessly until she makes a contented, high-pitched sound in the back of her throat that bolts straight to his cock. He could drown in the taste of her and go happily.

When his brains starts to throb from the lack of air, Matt pulls back the barest of millimetres and breathes in lungfuls of Alex-scented air. “Hi.”

Alex too takes deep breaths. “Hi”, she returns hoarsely, her smile audible even in that single syllable. “I was wondering when you’d get do that.”

“Yes, well, got caught up in my own head for a bit.”

“Hmmm.”

He ignores the warmth that spreads across his skin from where she toys with his shirt and pulls back to look at her – for a moment entirely distracted by her smudged lipstick. Fuck. _He_ did that. “Besides, kissing you is a daunting prospect, Kingston, potentially life-altering.”

“You’ve kissed me before.” Alex points out with a laugh, eyes twinkling.

“Not like that.” He grins at her to cover up the churning of his stomach, she sobers. Expression soft and dare he say; _happy_.

His eyes track the muscles in her throat as she swallows. “No. Not like that at all.”

They look back and forth between each other, caught in a sudden awkward silence. The taste of her lingers in his mouth and he doesn’t dare swallow it away even as guilt washes over him. “See you in three weeks?” Matt croaks out, throat like sandpaper.

“Three weeks.” Alex’s smile falls a bit short. “It’s a date.”

“Brilliant! Take care of yourself, Kingston.”

“You too.”

He doesn’t look back during the short trek to his own door and fights to keep control of his body every step of the way. Matt slams the door to his apartment shut behind him and lets out a string of curses. He’s properly kissed her, and she’s properly kissed him back AND she invited him to a dinner with her friends. He should be bloody elated and the majority of him is. What makes him nauseous is that there’s a part of him that is relieved that he won’t see her for three weeks. He won’t have to be mindful of what he says around her or have to keep an eye out for her wellbeing and fuck, listen to him – he’s not her bloody father. When did he stop being himself around her?

Why the fuck did Laura feel it necessary to point that out and pull out the rug from under him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm so sorry! Clearly I suck :( You've all been so wonderful and patient, sorry for the long wait, again :(
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter regardless. It's a bit of a scary point in the story with Matt all knotted up inside, but it's all working towards a resolution, promise.
> 
> Posts will be every other week from here on out so hopefully I'll be able to keep a schedule once more.
> 
> Now, excuse me while I go and have another look at ice-watered-down-Alex...


	64. Chapter 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend it's still Sunday and I actually kept my promise for once...

He doesn’t contact Alex the first week, even though he finds himself talking to her as if she’s there. Laura’s words are stuck in a loop in his head. It’s a bit scary how well he’s trained himself to worry about her safety. Because though Alex is in London and he is in Cardiff, he still frets over her well-being. Is she having nightmares? Does she see her attacker in the faces of nameless people? Is she still having headaches? Does her back bother her?

God, now that he is aware, he’s driving _himself_ up the wall.

The first night he sleeps restlessly. The guilt he feels for his relief over her absence sits like an anvil on his chest. He throws himself into his work, makes days longer than necessary because he doesn’t want to go home.

He goes to sleep with the memory of her in his bed, curled onto him. He tries not to, but each night the memories of the feel and smell of her settle under his sheets in a poor but welcome imitation of the real her.

And then the nightmares come. He forgets most of them upon waking, but some stick in his head for hours or days. Alex, beat up and bleeding, begging him to _Matt, please save me!_ He finds her half-buried in a dark and foggy forest, her body broken to such an extent he is relieved she’s gone even when her ghost accuses him of failing her.

Worst of all are the nightmares where she staggers towards him, covered in blood. They’re in a creepy, half-demolished building or in a forest or in his apartment. Her curls and clothes drip bright red blood that slowly drowns him as she towers over him, her voice an unearthly screech, accusing him of leaving her, of not caring, not _saving_ her.

He wakes up fighting his sheets, skin sweaty and his chest far too constricted by fear to breathe properly.

During the day however, it easier than he thought it’d be. He throws himself into his work and spends free moments planning his future. By the end of the week, he even talks to Steven.

The Scott doesn’t seem terribly surprised and although he does try to convince Matt to stay another season, he doesn’t actually threaten to hold him to his contract — providing they can find a suitable successor.

When he gets home that Friday, he feels immeasurably lighter. For the first time he realizes how heavily the decision has weighed on him. What also surprises him is how badly he wants to talk to Alex. He misses her. He misses the many inflictions of her voice, her warmth, all of her smiles. He even misses her presence in the building – the knowledge that she’s near.

He toys with his phone, inner voice a mantra of _call her, call her, call her_. But he knows he shouldn’t give in, not right after such a monumental step in his life because he can’t entirely trust himself. He calls his agent instead. Moffat made him promise to not even tell his family or Team Tardis.

Secrecy and carefully planned campaigns have always been part of the job, so it doesn’t surprise him much. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep it from Alex however — and doesn’t want to.

And it turns out he doesn’t have to. She calls the next day. He stares at his buzzing phone with disbelieving eyes. His heart skips a beat and his hands are sweaty when he fumbles for the device. Last night’s celebratory drinks slosh around in his stomach and his head hasn’t quite recovered either.

After taking a deep breath, he quickly accepts the call. “Alex, hi!” He winces a bit at his own shrillness.

There’s a beat before she returns his greeting. “Hello darling. How’ve you been?”

“Yeah, good. Busy. You?”

“Much the same actually – except that I didn’t just quit the role of a lifetime.”

His heart drops a few inches. “God, please don’t put it like that.”

“You’ll be fine, Matt. More than fine, I’m sure.” Her voice is warm and fond and for the first time in a week it feels like he can properly breathe.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He wishes, really, _really_ wishes she’d be with him so he could see the smile overtake her face step by step.

“It hasn’t really hit yet,” he admits. “And I’m not supposed to tell anyone — how did you know?”

“I always know.”

“You always were Steven’s favourite.”

“Now, I know that’s not true. He asked me if I thought there was any way to convince you to stay.”

The confession gives birth to a confusing mix of emotions. Guilt for putting the Moff in that position, after all, he owes the man pretty much everything at this point. Some sort of relief because honestly he’d also been a bit disappointed his boss accepted his resignation so easily and also surprise. Why did Steven turn to Alex? It’s unlikely Alex will know the answer to that. “What did you say?”

She hums. “That it’s your decision and he should talk to you. How did he take it when you told him?”

“He got that manic look in his eye, when I told him. You know, the one he usually gets when something forces him to rewrite a scene on short notice. I could see the gears turning in his head before he even tried to talk me out of it — like it didn’t even come as a surprise to him. It was a bit disappointing, honestly.”

She barks out a laugh at that, rich and low and both mocking and kind. His insides tingle and all those doubts he’s had over the past week, they suddenly seem utterly ridiculous. “They’ve probably been expecting you to quit for a while now, darling. That’s the beauty of being the Doctor.”

“Hmmm, you’re probably right. He seemed far too excited to get to write a regeneration scene. I don’t suppose he’s going to bring River into the Christmas Special now — too say goodbye?”

Alex falls silent.

“Alex?”

He’s fully braced for spoilers by the time she lets out a nervous chuckle. “Actually, he did ask.” His elation is short-lived. “But I can’t, my schedule is pretty much full through to July.”

“Your mystery project? You’re still not going to tell me what it is?”

“Yes, and soon I think, just not yet. I’m sorry Matt. I told Steven I might be able to do one or two scenes. He’s thinking about it.”

Irrationally hurt — he knows how much she adores that mystery project, he knows too she would’ve freed her schedule if she in anyway could. But Steven hadn’t written her into the original Special, or the 50th for that matter, and he can’t very well blame her for having moved on to other things.

But he does, a bit.

“Don’t apologize,” but his words fall short of being genuine. _Don’t sulk Smithers_. “I would’ve loved to have you there, but I know this new project means a lot to you. Even if you won't tell me what it is.”

Alex purposefully ignores his teasing jab. “Thank you, darling.” He can hear the relief in her voice and mentally kicks himself.

Commiserating on her absence in either the present or the future will not get him anywhere and if he’s honest, all that matters to him is that they’re talking, that she called even when he’s been all but ignoring her and that means something right? It means they’re going somewhere, evolving and moving forward. There’s something incredibly powerful about knowing that he can falter, lose his confidence for a bit, and Alex will still be there.

The question is, as what? She called him to offer support and advice, but that doesn’t mean she missed him as he missed her. Maybe she hadn’t missed him at all.

What if Alex experienced the same odd sense of relief as he had those first few days? What if, after all of this, they are better off as friends?

The question has been plaguing him for days and he can’t bring himself to answer it. Perhaps that says something in and off itself.

Sometimes it feels like he’s fighting an uphill battle — constantly aware how easily they can slip and fall back into their friendship. Even this call has been perfectly normal and friendly, as if they’ve not gone on a single date, as if they haven’t kissed or confessed to decidedly more-than-friends feelings.

It does little to help him sort through the confusion that clouds around him these day and yet he feels so much lighter and happier for talking to her.

He sinks a little further into his couch torn between ending the call and continuing to talk to her. Alex makes the decision for him. “Matt?”

“Yeah. Sorry, just thinking.”

She makes a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. “I imagine you have a lot to think about. Listen, I have to go, but call me when you need to talk, yeah?”

God, she’s so damn friendly. He grouses a little at her and then at himself because how can he begrudge her for that? “Thanks, I… Have a good night Alex.”

“You too, darling. And don’t be a stranger, I’ve missed you.”

She disconnects while he’s gaping at thin air, her final words ringing in his ears. _I’ve missed you_.


	65. Chapter 65

The next two weeks fly by. Part of that is thanks to the insane amount of work involved with quitting one’s job. Which is all the more surprising considering only a handful of people even know about it. Matt spends a good amount of time talking with Steven about his exit, his agent sends him potential audition after audition, Beth and Piers want to talk to him, Jenna is buggering him because she knows something is going on, she just doesn’t know what and Laura is much the same.

The calm point – and he is incredibly grateful for it – is Alex and today he’ll finally get to see her again. He’s still rather uncertain about where they stand and where they’ll go, but today that doesn’t matter.

Today he’ll spend a couple of hours with Alex and ten of her best friends. 

Butterflies take flight in his stomach when he steps up to Alex’s front door. The weather has taken a turn for the worse a couple of days ago and there’s been a steady rainfall ever since. His winter coat is water-resistant and has kept him relatively dry during the brisk walk over to Alex’s.

He’s early, _really_ early in order to help Alex with the preparations, but he isn’t prepared for the sight of Alex Kingston in lime-green Yoga-pants and a loose white top, because _bloody_ _hell_. He knows his mouth is hanging open, but at the moment his brain can’t quite function enough to shut it. Her hair is pulled back into an crude ponytail; curls escaping every which way and she isn’t wearing a stitch of makeup. Her eyes glow a bewitching green. Fuck, she’s bloody gorgeous.

“Hello darling, come in.”

Her greeting snaps him out of his stupor and he steps up to kiss her on her cheek, his mind’s eye filled with images of pushing her up against the wall and snogging her until they both pass out from lack of air. So yeah, cheek is definitely safer.

Alex has other ideas and turns her head to meet his mouth with his. She pulls away before he can well and truly comprehend the action and precedes him into the sitting room. It gives him a stunning view of her back — from her shoulder blades peaking out above the top to her arse in those pants.

His brain is still only half functioning when Alex turns to face him again. “Thanks for helping out.”

“Yeah. No problem, truly Kingston.” He glances into the kitchen, suddenly hit by the delicious smell wafting around them.

“The turkey’s been in the oven for a while now,” she explains with a pleased smile, the kind that pulls more on the left corner of her mouth than the right. “Dad got us a nice one this year. We’ll just have to arrange the tables and make a corn mash — I’ve already peeled the potatoes, so it shouldn’t take us long. The others will start dropping in from around six.” Her expression softens a little. “How’ve you been, Matt?” She gestures for him to take a seat. “And what can I get you to drink?”

“I’m good, and I’ve been good. Just really busy.”

“I can imagine. How’s Moffat faring with the regeneration scene?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so involved in his writing process. It’s pretty cool.” He talks to her back as she ducks into he kitchen. She does have a very nice back and her choice of very casual clothes feels intimate somehow. A very nice front too, he admires when she returns, teapot in one hand and two glasses in the other. “How’ve you been?”

“Well, actually. Flo’s agreed to come over with Salome for Christmas so we’ll be able to help my parents out.”

“That’s good news.” He knew she’s been dreading to ask her ex-husband to change their holiday arrangements, though he never got her to explain why. In Matt’s eyes, Florian has a lot to make up for after bringing Linda Chance into their lives. But even now the smile Alex gives him as she pours her tea, doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Does that mean you’ll be staying here until New Years?”

But Alex shakes her head and a few more curls escape her hair tie. “No, I’m flying back for Salome’s last week of school. She’s participating in a school wide biology project, a Christmas pageant and she’s performing a Spanish version of West Side Story with her class.”

“Wow.”

She chuckles. “I know, it’s a bit crazy, but Sal loves it. The three of us will cross the pond a few days before Christmas and stay here till January 3rd.”

He nods, marvelling silently at Alex’s stamina and dedication to her daughter. It’s her year to spend Christmas with Salome and she doesn’t have to involve Florian, but she does it anyway because she wants to repair the damage Linda has done to Salome’s relationship with her dad. So what then is the cause of that flicker of doubt in her eyes? “How are things with Florian?” Matt asks quietly, hoping he doesn’t come across as jealous even if he is, a bit.

Alex’s expression freezes. “Fine. He’s being agreeable and friendly.”

Studying her for a moment and working hard to push down not only worry, but an odd kind of fear as well, he raises his eyebrows at her.

“He’s trying to make amends.” She tucks a few stray curls behind her air and straightens up. “Anyway, I don’t really want to talk about it.” Again there’s a sharp pang of hurt and a quiet desperation in his chest. Why doesn’t she want to share this with him? “Let’s get started on the tables, if that’s all right with you?”

“Of course.”

She explains what she wants him to do while checking on the turkey roasting in the oven. His eyes slide along the curve of her ass, but it’s not enough to break through the disappointment of earlier. “What about your Christmas plans?” She asks when they’re shuffling from the kitchen to the living area, a big oak table that easily sits six held between them.

“Northampton.” A quick correction keeps him from damaging the doorpost, but he nearly loses his footing in the process. Alex has to compensate, using the table to keep him upright. “Thanks.”

“It used to be my grandmother’s.” Her voice is kind, but the warning unmistakable.

Matt nods. “Laura and James are flying in. I’m meeting up in London with some friends for New Years and then of course there’s the BBC party.”

He wants to laugh at the _oh_ _fuck_ expression that crosses her face, only this time Alex stumbles and he’s too busy making sure they don’t break the table, or themselves. “Oh God, that entirely slipped my mind! When is it again?”

“Not until the ninth, so you’ll be long gone by then unfortunately. Arthur and Kaz are going to be there too, y’know.”

“Might be back by then,” Alex admits with a sly smile. “Depends on… well…”

“Don’t tell me, your mystery project?”

“Among other things.”

Before he gets a chance to inquire about those other things (is she hinting at Susie? At him? Maybe there’s another project on the horizon?), she quickly moves on to instructing him where to get chairs from and how she wants the two tables set.

At first he worries he may have said something wrong, her voice is a bit clipped and cool. He blinks at the wall when he realizes this is a family matriarch at work; efficiency her goal rather than pleasantry and smiles. It’s not a side of her he’s seen often.

They work side by side in comparative silence. He has to ask things like where to find glasses and bowls every so often, Alex asks him to taste the corn mash (more salt) and when her shoulders starts to bother her too much, she asks him to take over the mashing part — and if he beams like a madman at her request for help, she doesn’t mention it and he doesn’t care.

It’s almost enough to make him forget the troubled look that crossed her face when he asked about Florian.

Almost, but not quite.

When she’s happy with the mash and the tables — he’s pretty sure she’s redone at least half of his work — Alex begs off for a shower and a change of clothes. He checks on the turkey (which is _huge_ ) and sneaks a bit of the corn mash before dropping down into one of the comfy chairs in the front room and messing around with his phone a bit.

He’s never spend a day like this with Alex; one where they’re not working, but do have goals and deadlines. For some reason he hadn’t quite expected her to be so… direct, he supposes, in the tasks she assigned him. Friendly and warm, always, but she clearly hadn’t been as focussed on putting him at ease as she had been in the past.

It’s a compliment that she’s finally letting him see her stripped of her public veneer and he rather loves her when she’s a bit tougher (and let’s face it; ‘tough’ Alex is still one of the warmest people he’s ever met), but it also drives home that, although he’s gotten to know her better during their dates, he still doesn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

And is it fair of him, taking her out on dates and meeting her friends when he is suddenly so unsure of himself? Of _them_. Because she _is_ trying and she has every reason not to. Or is this him being overprotective again? _Fuck_. He throws his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. He’s driving himself around the bend going in circles like this.

She wants him here, she wants him to meet her friends. He should be pleased and proud, and nervous as hell. And he is all those things. But he also feels like a fraud because he convinced Alex to give this a go. He told her he’s absolutely sure about his feelings for her.

It turns out he really isn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest you lot, I meant to scrap this chapter entirely, but I haven't managed to iron out the next one — in which stuff actually happens — in time and I felt I had to post something... hope it doesn't disappoint too much and as always; thank you so much for reading!


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